


Kaleidoscope Heart

by andachippedcup



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Oliver Queen Being an Asshole, Original Character(s), Precocious Child, Story within a Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:48:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 72,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22026973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andachippedcup/pseuds/andachippedcup
Summary: After the Queen’s Gambit sinks, Oliver wakes up in the hospital and learns that he is the yacht's sole survivor. As he struggles to heal physically and emotionally, he finds himself floundering until another patient befriends him: an often obnoxious but well intentioned kid named Bee, who constantly sneaks into Oliver’s room to demand Oliver tell her a story. Grasping for something entertaining to tell the girl, Oliver invents a vigilante hero he names ‘The Green Arrow’. As Oliver weaves his tale, both he and Bee progress and relapse in their recoveries; all the while, the fictional hero of Oliver’s tale is making leaps and stumbles of his own.
Relationships: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak
Comments: 316
Kudos: 444





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright guys, this is the Olicity fic I wrote for NaNo! Felicity won't show up for a while but I promise she will eventually. Until then, enjoy the ride and thanks for reading!!! My plan is to post weekly (on Saturdays!) so stay tuned for more updates!

He remembers the colors more vividly than anything else. 

A thousand hazy shades of blue that transition from light - cyan and aqua - to dark - midnight and navy. He can’t remember ever noticing how many different blues there were in the ocean - or anything, really - before being tossed about in the water, a limp ragdoll at the mercy of the waves. He recalls flashes of brilliant white lightning and an acrid taste on his tongue. He remembers cold and he remembers wet. Flashes of distorted shapes and snatches of sound form a jumbled, incomplete memory of the time between the yacht going down and the moment he comes to. 

The hospital in which he wakes is a sea of its own; it is a veritable rainbow of hues - white and off white, eggshell and ivory. The ceiling tiles are almost pearl in color while the sheet tiles of the floor are a dusty frost tone, complete with an abundance of charcoal scuffs and marks. For some reason they all stand out with distinct clarity. So many shades and tones that he’s never noticed before.

Color. Everywhere he looks, _ color _ is all he can see. 

Slowly, things come into clearer focus. The sensors and machinery at the head of his hospital bed chirp and whirl and click beside him. Muted sunlight streams through the closed blinds of a window on the opposite side of the room, beneath which a plastic chair sits empty. He’s dimly aware of plastic tubing across his face and the gentle hiss of air blowing into his nostrils. _ He’s on oxygen? Why? _

With a shallow, steadying breath, he tries to sit up and suddenly, the colors of the room are secondary to the stars swimming in front of his eyes as pain explodes through his body. There’s a stabbing ache in his side that takes his breath away and leaves him reeling; even as he lays his head back on the pillow though, he’s in for a surprise. As the back of his head makes contact with the stiff hospital pillow, he feels as though someone’s taken an axe to his skull and the agony of that sensation radiates out, ultimately coiling behind his eyes. It’s all he can do to shutter his eyes to the world and breathe through it and it’s some minutes more before he can even attempt to open them again. 

What fresh hell is this? How has he gone from thrashing about somewhere in the middle of the ocean to being nearly incapacitated with the torment of his injuries in a hospital somewhere? 

And… where exactly _ is _he? He’s assuming he’s in the US - the whiteboard opposite of his bed has notes from his nurses addressed to him and everything’s written in English. Not that he gives a damn, but his nurses today are ‘Becca’ and ‘Gwen’ and one of them has drawn a fucking smiley face on the board. How nice. He’s going to go ahead and hazard a guess that he’s definitely somewhere stateside, though how he’s gotten here, he can’t be sure. 

With a groan, he tries to move his arms and mercifully, he finds that he can do so with only a twinge of pain in his sides. Glancing at his arms, he can see the skin is angry and red where it’s been scratched open, though from what he’s got no clue. Carefully, he feels around for some sort of button or remote that he can utilize to flag down some hospital staff member who might be able to make heads or tails of all this for him. Finally, he finds what he’s looking for; built into the panel on the side of his bed, there are buttons, one of which reads ‘CALL’ in bold, capital letters. He mashes down on the button with his thumb and he prays that whatever the hell is going on, he’s going to make it out of this okay. 

As he waits for someone to come, he tries to piece together what little he knows and remembers. Frankly, it isn’t much. He can remember boarding the Gambit, destined for Asia. He remembers being with Sara. Wine. A conversation about fermentation. _ Biology. _ At the memory, he feels a stirring low down and with a jolt, he throws back the hospital blanket and checks himself out with a huff of relief. 

_ Thank god. _ Whatever the hell is wrong with him at least _ some things _are still functional. 

He blinks and tries to refocus, turning over the memories in his brain. It’s like trying to put Humpty Dumpty together again and really, Oliver’s never been much of a fan of puzzles. The last thing he can definitively remember is the yacht pitching suddenly, sending he and Sara flying just before the water came rushing in.

Beyond that? It’s all flashes and the same myriad of colors. Disjointed. Incomplete. And confusing in the extreme. 

“Mister Queen! You’re awake!” 

The voice draws his attention immediately and his eyes dart to the doorway, where a dark haired woman in a crisp lab coat stands staring at him in surprise. Instinctively, he tries to sit up a bit to get a better look at her but right away the pain that lances through him draws him up short. 

“Yeah and I could do with some pain killers and some answers,” he rasps irritably. “For starters where the hell am I and how did I get here? Better yet, what the _ fuck _happened to me?” 

The woman lowers her eyes and clears her throat as she steps into the room, holding a clipboard at her middle as she does so. 

“Mister Queen-” she begins, and right away, he cuts her off. 

“No, ‘Mister Queen’ is my father; I go by Oliver.” 

Swallowing, she nods at him, still not meeting his eyes as she tries again.

“Oliver,” she states with emphasis, her hand reaching for the foot of his bed. He sees that there’s a medical chart stored there and he watches as she opens it methodically and flips through the pages within. “My name is Doctor Schwartz. I’ve been treating you since you arrived at Starling General. You were in an accident,” she begins slowly and Oliver nods faintly. 

“I remember being on the yacht. And I remember the yacht taking on water… That’s about it,” he confides, lifting his chin to stare at the doctor expectantly. “What happened?” 

The doctor glances at him from over the top of the medical chart, her eyes surprisingly soft. 

“The yacht sank. You… You were the only survivor.” 

Her words, however gently spoken, land with the force of a nuclear bomb. Oliver is speechless as he tries to figure out what way is up while his mind spins and spirals. _ You were the only survivor. _How is that possible? There was his father. There was Sara. There were members of their staff and the ship’s crew. How can they be gone in an instant while he’s still here?!

“H-How. How can that be?” 

“I’m afraid the storm that sank your yacht was extremely violent; by the time rescue crews were able to reach the wreckage, it was too late.” 

His breathing speeds up at this and he can’t seem to take a deep breath as he hyperventilates, shaking his head in disbelief, even though it rattles his brain and hurts to do so. 

“No. No, that can’t be. They need to check again,” he argues and Doctor Schwartz just shakes her head at him sadly.

“I’m very sorry,” she murmurs but Oliver is positively irate and overwrought. 

“NO! They need to check again! My… My father was on that boat! He… He had to have made it off. He _ had to.” _Oliver explains to her, passing a hand over his face, only to wince as he finds his left cheekbone is tender and swollen to the touch. 

“Oliver, I am very sorry to be the one to tell you this. Everyone else from the yacht… Well. They called off the search and rescue teams. You’re the only one that was recovered.” 

She falls silent and Oliver lets her words sink in as he grapples with the implications. Sara is dead. His father is dead. The world as he knows it has ended. He’s never experienced a world without Robert Queen and now? Now he’s supposed to just keep going as if nothing has changed? It’s madness. He presses the heels of both hands to his eyes, determined not to cry even though he can already feel the pressure of tears building behind his eyes and the sobs expanding within his chest. Not yet. Not now. He can fall apart later, in private. But for now, he’s got to hold his shit together. 

“Oliver, I know this is a lot to take in. But if you are up for it, I’d like to talk you through your injuries.” 

The doctor’s voice is quiet and he can tell she’s treating him like he’s fragile. Ordinarily that would irk him but at the moment, he can admit at least to himself that _ he is fragile. _

“Go for it. Things can’t get much worse, can they?” He grunts, sniffling as he finally pulls his hands away from his face and stares at her in deflated indifference. 

“For starters, you have several broken ribs,” 

“So that’s why I feel like I went a few rounds with a prize fighter? Excellent,” he skulks, squirming slightly in the hospital bed in an attempt to sit up without inflaming his injuries. 

“You have broken bones throughout your face - your left cheek, jawbones, and your nose may need corrective surgery and you have extensive bruising across your face. I suspect you may also have suffered whiplash, judging by the bruising and the nature of your accident, but since you’ve been unconscious, we haven’t yet assessed that.” 

“Excellent. Anything else you’re forgetting?” He’s angry and grieving and he’s taking it out on the doctor, which isn’t fair. But neither is waking up to find your entire world shattered and your body in a state of broken disrepair. 

“Your most severe injuries were to your lungs and to your head. As best as we can tell, you endured some manner of blunt force trauma to the chest during the accident, which caused a pulmonary contusion - essentially, a bruise on your lungs. This means your lungs aren’t functioning as well as they normally do, which is partly why we had you on a ventilator until yesterday. Your status has improved enough that we removed the ventilator and now you’re on oxygen to help you breathe better. Finally, you sustained a serious head injury in the accident; it caused what we refer to as a depressed skull fracture. In essence, your skull indented towards your brain cavity. It’s the injury we’re most concerned about and the one we’re monitoring the most closely. It very well may require surgery, depending on how your body heals in the coming days and weeks.” 

“_Weeks?!” _Oliver repeats in shock and dismay and Doctor Schwartz nods. 

“You may not stay here for the duration of your recovery; the Intensive Care Unit here at Starling General is for emergent cases or individuals whose conditions may readily become emergent. If you stabilize, your condition can be downgraded and we may send you to a rehabilitation hospital to finish off your recovery. But for now? Settle in, Oliver. You have a long road to recovery ahead of you. But the good news is, you survived. And I’m very confident that you could make a full recovery. It’s just going to take some time.” 

“Oh, I’ll recover? Great. I’ll just have a face like a freaking Mister Potato Head, which will match my wheezy, defective lungs just _ perfectly. _Oh but yay! I survived!” 

He throws up his hands in mock celebration, though doing so makes a muscle in his shoulder spasm painfully. Groaning in defeat, he lowers his arms, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. Surviving the accident feels like anything but a blessing and entirely like a curse. 

“My mother,” he queries, his breathing marked by a faint yet laborious whistle, “and my sister. Do they know yet? Has anyone called them?” 

At this the Doctor stills and stares at him gently. 

“They were notified as soon as you were recovered. As I understand it, they were here when you were brought in.” 

“Do they know that I’m awake?” 

“No. But I’ll be certain that gets passed along,” the doctor reassures him as she comes around the side of the bed and boldly pats his hand. It’s probably meant to comfort him but the gesture falls flat. “Right now though, I’m going to see about getting you something for the pain. Until I get back… rest. You’ve been through hell.” 

As the doctor leaves, Oliver settles back down into his hospital bed and tries to calm the racing in his mind. His grief crashes in on him in wave after wave. His father is dead. Sara is dead. He feels rage explode through him, chased by sorrow and guilt. If not for him, Sara would never have been on the yacht; her blood is on his hands. And his father… His father has been a constant in his life, a pillar, a source of certainty. Whatever turmoil Oliver has found himself embroiled in, Robert Queen has always been there to see him through.

And now he’s gone. Oliver feels like a ship too close to shore, ready to crash upon the rocks without a lighthouse to guide it. 

Why wasn’t it him? Why has he lived while they haven’t? It’s too much for him to begin to comprehend. The vast injustice of it all is just too much. At some point, the tears flow freely and he doesn’t bother to fight them. He’s still in so much pain - physical and emotional - that he doesn’t give a damn if the doc or anyone else sees him like this. What does it matter? The Queen legacy, the Queen empire, it has always been firmly tied to his father. Without him, what are they? Oliver’s no CEO. He doesn’t see his mother really fitting the bill either. So the Queen Consolidated brand is already at risk. The Queen fortune, the Queen reputation? All of it is already at risk or tarnished. If the paps haven’t gotten wind of Sara’s presence on the yacht, he’s sure they will eventually and _ that _isn’t exactly going to look good, given that it’s well established in the media that Oliver’s been dating Laurel. So there goes the Queen family image too. 

_ Laurel_. 

He cringes as he even thinks of her. Her sister is dead and he’s to blame. If she doesn’t hate him already for cheating on her or for getting her sister killed, she’ll certainly hate him for the media circus this news will probably put her in the center of. For a brief second he considers asking the doctors if Laurel has come to see him but then he thinks better of it.

He’d rather not see her right now anyhow. There’s no way that interaction would end well. 

He’s back to thoughts of his father, and the massive hole left in his wake when the nurse comes in with the pain meds Doctor Schwartz has ordered him. They’re IV pain killers - the good stuff - and with relative speed Oliver feels his mind detaching from the pain in his body and then he feels his eyes falling slowly closed, blocking out this nightmare world as he eases off into sleep. 

✦✦✦✦✦

When he wakes, it’s dark out. 

The window opposite him admits slats of muted orange gold light from the streetlights and the machines at the head of his bed have soft flickers of green and red light from the monitors all overseeing his bodily functions. He shifts to try and get comfortable but comfort seems a lost cause; everything hurts. Lying on his back puts pressure on his head and his bruised lungs struggle to function; lying on his side puts pressure on his ribs and on his busted up face. He’s not about to even _ attempt _to roll over and lie on his stomach; he’s fairly certain the attempt alone would do him in.

So he simply sits in the dark, miserable, hurting, and alone. 

The clock on the nightstand beside him reads 1:03 AM in firetruck red numerals and he groans in frustration. He wants to sleep but there’s no way he’s falling back asleep without some sort of narcotic to stifle the pain.

Oliver finds himself wanting his mother, like he’s some little homesick school boy. Or his sister; he’s desperately wanting to see her, obnoxious little pre-teen drama and all. He’d take twelve year old drama over the spectacle he’s dealing with here and now at twenty two. And then he thinks of Tommy, of how badly he could use the support of his best friend right now, and Oliver very nearly cries for the second time in less than twenty four hours. 

It feels unspeakably cruel that he’s had to wake up and learn about his father and Sara’s deaths from a stranger. It feels crueler still that neither his mother, nor his sister, nor his _ best fucking friend, _were at his bedside when he woke. Once more, Oliver feels anger burning through his veins as he thinks about how neglected he’s been by the people that should care the most. 

That’s one of the stages of grieving, right? Anger? Maybe that’s all this is. Displaced rage over the death of his father and Sara, manifesting towards his remaining support system. The very thought is pretty fucking mature for him, if he does say so himself. But even if he’s mature to recognize that his anger may be misplaced, he’s not mature enough to rein that anger in. He’s mad as hell and he wants nothing more than to give them a piece of his mind. 

But with a pang, he realizes he’s got jack shit in the way of cellular devices; his phone and plenty else has been lost along with the ship. And hell if he remembers anyone’s numbers by heart (he’s not a goddamn phone book, after all. Who has anyone’s numbers memorized these days?!), so there’s no calling them by a landline. 

So instead he sits in his bed and he stews in his rage and in his hurt. By the time the staff make their morning rounds, his mood could best be described as ‘just fucking peachy’. 

“Good morning, Oliver!” Doctor Schwartz is entirely too bright, too cheerful. It ticks him off right off the bat.

“If you say so.” 

“Oliver, these are the ICU’s interns. They’ll be rounding on you with me today. To start with, how are you feeling this morning?” 

“Like hell. When can I get more meds on board?” 

The doctor blinks at him in surprise, perhaps taken aback by his disgruntled abruptness, perhaps worried that her patient is abusing his pain meds. Or perhaps she’s just surprised that he’s being such a downright _ ass. _

“You’re on a pretty strict schedule. You’re not due for another few hours. If we need to adjust the schedule we can, but your dosage will need to remain the same.” 

“Of fucking course.” He falls silent as Doctor Schwartz glances at the other doctors flanking her wordlessly, collecting herself quickly before she carries on with rounding on Oliver. 

“Alright. Who would like to take Oliver here through what we have planned for this week?” 

There’s a nervous shuffle as the trio of young doctors look from one to the other uneasily and Oliver can tell - none of them are precisely keen on taking on this particular challenge. Good. He’s not looking to make their lives easier. Why should he? Life certainly isn’t making his existence simple and it sure as shit isn’t pleasant. Finally, the young woman in the middle of the group closes her eyes and inhales quietly, then steps forward. 

“Mister Queen presented with-” she begins but Oliver cuts her off with a grumbling noise of complaint.

“The name’s Oliver. Don’t call me Mister Queen.” 

The young doctor looks thunderstruck for a moment but after a quick glance to Doctor Schwartz, who nods for her to continue, the intern goes on. 

_ “Oliver _presented with pulmonary contusions, a skull fracture, facial trauma, broken ribs, and minor contusions across predominantly the left side of his body. He was intubated until the day before yesterday, at which point we were able to move him to a nasal cannula for added oxygen until we see greater respiratory productivity.” 

“His prognosis?” 

“Stable but critical - his brain-” the intern is already fully into her response when Oliver interrupts, lashing out perhaps a touch. 

“His brain is telling him he would very much like to be spoken _ to _ instead of being talked _ about _as if he isn’t in the fucking room.” 

Okay. Perhaps that was more than a ‘touch’ of lashing out. But he doesn’t care. 

“Your brain is still at risk of swelling; presently, your skull is continuing to put pressure on your brain cavity where the trauma indented the bone. Right now you are stable but it’s very likely you could become emergent if the pressure intensifies.” 

“Your recommendation?” Doctor Schwartz guides the intern, who glances at her uneasily and then carries on.

“Continue checking cardiac and pulmonary function. I’d do a full neurological exam, utilizing the Glasgow Coma Scale to work out if there’s been any brain damage. Definitely a CT scan, potentially x-rays or an MRI if we need additional diagnostics.”

“Very good. And what do we need to look out for as Oliver recovers?” 

“Headache is to be expected, but excessive head pain could be symptomatic of larger issues. We should also look for nonreactive pupils, slurred speech, impaired vision, numbness, bruising behind the ears or under the eyes, bleeding at the site of the injury or around the eyes, ears, and nose. Vomiting, facial weakness, and a slow pulse would also be cause for concern.” 

“Just those few things though. That’s all. Nothing alarming, really. Bleeding? No biggie. Numbness? Who cares!” Oliver’s keenly aware he’s being a thorn in their side. He doesn’t care. Isn’t bedside manner a thing? This chick could do with some improving of hers, in his humble opinion. 

“Additionally, any cerebrospinal fluid leakage from the nose and ears may indicate an immediate need for surgery. Depressed skull fractures are more likely to require surgery as they can have a difficult time healing on their own. In this instance, because of the trauma Mist- _ Oliver _has already sustained, we’re waiting in the hopes that it will heal on its own, rather than put his lungs through the added stress of surgery.” 

The doctors all nod approvingly, but Oliver isn’t nearly as pleased as they all seem to be.

“I’m sorry… are you saying my brain fluid could _ leak out of my nose and ears?!” _ He shouts, immediately regretting that decision as his head pounds in pain. _ Fuck. _He really needs to get a grip. 

“Cerebrospinal fluid. Yes, it’s a possibility, Oliver. But we’re prepared to handle that if it happens.” The doctor is aiming to be reassuring. But her aim isn’t great because Oliver? He’s anything but reassured. 

“Oh well at least _ you’re _prepared. Then that’s fine, isn’t it? You’re prepared, so who cares if I leak brain goo, you guys have it covered. I’m so glad I’m in a hospital where you guys are ready in case my brain starts oozing out of my orifices. Don’t worry everyone, it’s FINE. Don’t mind me if I accidentally leak a little bit of BRAIN all over the place!” 

His chest heaves as he finishes his growling tirade, so worked up that he can actually feel his heartbeat in the drumming of pain in his head. This is so fucked up. How can they stand here so calmly and tell him it’ll be okay if his brain fluid leaks out of him? He’s twenty two for chrissakes. Nothing about any of this is okay. 

He shouldn’t be in the hospital. He’s supposed to be lounging in the comfort of the Queen’s Gambit as they sail the sea. He’s supposed to be indulging in expensive wine and the company of the very hot, no strings attached Sara Lance. He is not supposed to be lying in a hospital bed, discussing surgery and treatment plans with a mini horde of baby doctors. 

He hears shuffling and glances up in time to see the interns departing, though Doctor Schwartz remains behind. When the others have left and it’s just the two of them, she regards him for a long moment and then speaks.

“Oliver, I can’t imagine what you’re going through. I know all of this must be indescribably difficult for you. But I need you to pull yourself together,” the doctor implores, her eyes bright with pleading as she stares down at him.

“Yeah, I get it. Play nice with the baby docs,” he grumbles. To his surprise though, Doctor Schwartz shakes her head.

“I’m not worried about my interns. They can take it. Heck, they could honestly use the challenge. What I’m worried about is _ you. _ I know that I didn’t know you before… _ this,” _she gestures to the hospital around them, “but I know from your medical history here that you were a pretty healthy guy. And I get the impression from the media outlets that you were accustomed to a certain lifestyle. A lifestyle that doesn’t really mesh well with being stuck in a hospital, where there’s a distinct lack of nightlife and alcohol’s a non-starter,” 

“Seriously? No booze?” 

“Well, you can have the booze, if you don’t mind the cerebrospinal fluid leakage that will most likely follow.” 

“...Message received, no booze it is,” he mutters and in response, Doctor Schwartz flashes him a smile. 

“My point here Oliver, is that I know this is hard on you. And you have every right to be mad as hell. But I need you to channel that energy into healing. Or else the anger you feel right now? It will be your daily reality. Being mad at the world isn’t going to get you out of this hospital. But finding some peace? Letting go of some of your anger - some of your hurt? That _ will _help you get out of here. So do yourself a favor for me and try to be kinder. At least to yourself. Okay?” 

He’s honestly so taken aback by her little speech that it takes him several long seconds to find his voice and when he does, he feels a flash of annoyance at the way his voice breaks a few syllables in.

“Thank you, Doctor Schwartz… That umm… That means a lot.” 

“Don’t thank me. Just listen to me, okay? Go easy on yourself. If you stay angry, your cranial pressure is going to rocket and that is how you land yourself a one way ticket to see the neurosurgeon. Capiche?” 

“Yeah, I read you loud and clear.” 

“Good. Get some rest. I’ll be back in a while to adjust your med schedule.” 

Doctor Schwartz leaves him and once more, Oliver is left to his own devices. He was so swept up in the utter lunacy of hearing everything that’s wrong with him and all his possible symptoms and such, that he had forgotten to ask the doctor about getting in touch with his family. And he’d forgotten to ask about getting some sort of entertainment up in this place.

Hospital TV? So _ not _ going to cut it if he’s going to be stuck in this place for _ weeks. _Who’s he got to pay off to get a satellite dish rigged into this place so he can catch a game, or at the very least some halfway decent TV? He’ll die of boredom if all he’s got is daytime TV and soaps. Nope. Not happening. 

Oliver wallows in self pity for a while as the time passes. Eventually, Doctor Schwartz returns and makes adjustments to his meds and once more, Oliver feels as though his brain has been partitioned off from his body. The pain fades to a muted background noise, a low susurrant undertone that he is more easily able to ignore and overlook. 

He’s basking in the absence of pain after drowning in it for what felt like a short eternity when distantly, he hears a soft noise that doesn’t jive with the beeps and hums he’s already grown accustomed to here in the hospital. Still, he’s too blissfully doped up on pain meds to care - at first. 

There’s another quiet skittering sound and this time, he pops one eye open to peer around the room sleepily but there’s nothing there - just the deepening shadows from the sun outside his window. Satisfied, he closes his eyes again and settles against the pillows, praying for sleep that he knows will be hard pressed to find him. He’s pleasantly surprised to find himself drifting off fairly quickly however, when he could swear he feels movement near his feet. Slowly, he rouses himself back to some semblance of wakefulness and bleary eyed, he stares at the foot of his bed and as he focuses, Oliver nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Fuck!” He swears as he instinctively flinches away, only for his body to clench with pain in half a hundred different places. He swears indiscriminately under his breath and tries to collect himself, pushing himself up into a sitting position despite the protests of his body.

His first thought had been that a small mummy had stolen into his room. Upon further review, however, he had seen that it wasn’t a mummy - it’s a pint sized child with a bandaged head and big eyes staring at him from the foot of his hospital bed. 

“Shit. Have I started leaking brain goo already, or is there really a little kid in my room right now?”

As he watches, the kid actually nods at him.

“Did you… _ Did you just nod at me?” _

In answer, the kid nods again and Oliver groans, his eyes slamming shut as he tries to process this rather distressing development. This can’t be real, can it? Kids don’t just get to roam hospitals. But then again, the thing _ is _covered in bandages. Maybe it escaped from its room somewhere? Unlikely. Hospitals are usually pretty on top of kids like that. It’s got to be a trick of his mind, he decides. Although, that thought is poor comfort - he’s not really in love with the idea that he’s imagining make believe children showing up in his room. 

“Great. I’m hallucinating a small child. And my hallucination is actually communicating with me. This _ can’t _be good,” he gripes, sighing heavily. As he continues to watch, the kid disappears from view and as he cranes to get a good look, he sees the little twerp is scooting around on the floor, ducking under his bed.

“Hey!” He calls out, struggling to keep the little pest in his sight but unable to do so owing to the shooting pain that springs up in his neck and sides as soon as he moves. “Listen here, pipsqueak! This isn’t your jungle gym and this isn’t your playground, alright? Amscray. Some of us have to focus on healing.”

There’s a shuffling sound from beneath him and suddenly, a little head pops up under the bed, directly beneath him, and he flinches away in surprise.

“Jesus,” he mutters, “somebody needs to put a bell on you.” 

The rogue munchkin just looks up at him, blinking thoughtfully before it speaks in a high pitched voice. 

“Whatsa amscray?” 

“It speaks,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes before he angles his head to look at the kid, exasperation practically oozing from each and every one of his pores. He’s _ so _ not in the mood for this. “Excuse you? What are you trying to ask me?” 

“You said ‘amscray’. Whatsa amscray?” 

He stares at the tiny humanoid beneath him, torn between exasperation and grudging amusement. The little twerp doesn’t know what amscray means? Well, clearly - it _ is _ still in his room. 

“It means ‘get out’ or ‘leave’. Which is really what you should be doing,” he remarks, watching in amazement as the brazen little thing comes tootling out from beneath his bed and sits cross legged on the floor below him. No longer half obstructed by the bed, he can see that the kid, in addition to having a bandage around its head, is also sporting a pretty serious cast across its right arm. As he watches, it begins humming contentedly and it starts to poke a stubby little finger at every scuff mark on the floor as if to count them all. He gapes at it in shock for a few long moments and then he shakes his head (_ that’s a mistake, yeah no more of that, he’s seeing stars _) and addresses the child again. 

“Okay listen..._ you,” _ he begins, realizing too little too late that he doesn’t know its name, or its gender for that matter. The thing’s just a miniaturized mummy for all he can tell. “First of all… what the heck is your name?” 

The pee wee just shakes its head, refusing to offer up the information he’s requested and he can’t help but stare at the kid, aghast. 

“Seriously? You’re not going to tell me your name?” 

“I’m not ‘apposed to talk to strangers,” the child replies serenely, continuing to study the floor as it counts the scuff marks all around the hospital bed. 

“You’ve got to be shitting me. Stranger danger? They still teach that?” He can’t help but chortle, amazed that he’s seriously being thwarted like this by a kid that’s what? Four? Five? Six? Seven? How the hell should he know, kids at that age all look the same, right? 

A few minutes lapse in silence and he realizes the kid means business - he’s really not getting a name out of it until or unless he can prove that he’s not stranger material. The problem is, his go-to method for handling this situation would be bribery via candy. And taking candy from a stranger is probably also against the code and also, he doesn’t have any candy with which to bribe anyone anyway. So it's back to the drawing board.

“Okay, how about this. If I introduce myself to you, than I’m not a stranger anymore. Then you and I can be ‘friends’ and you can tell me your name,” he explains in a kind, level voice that quickly drops to a low, irked whisper. “And then I can call the nurse’s station so they can resolve my little pest control issue.” 

The youngster seems to turn this offer over in its mind, thinking long and hard before finally shrugging noncommittally. Oliver suppresses a frustrated shout and instead, opts to go forth with introducing himself, in the hopes that doing so will spur the kid into talking. 

“Okay, well my name is Oliver. But my friends call me Ollie. You can call me that too - would you like to call me Ollie?” He offers with a faux beatific smile. The smile is a short lived one though - the little runt’s response sours his expression instantly. Right away, the kid shakes its head in response to his offer, wrinkling its nose in disgust.

“Eww. No way. Ollie’s a dumb name.”

“Excuse me, did you just say ‘eww’ to my name?!”

“I don’t like it,” the kid shoots back with an indifferent shrug and Oliver can only blink as rage howls within him. What animals raised this heathen?! He has a few choice words for the assholes that call themselves this pest’s parents.

“Okay well don’t call me that then. Whatever. I’m not a stranger now though. See? I’m Oliver. So you want to tell me your name now?” 

The kid shakes its head, appearing completely untroubled as it scoots along on the floor, still counting the scuff marks. 

“No thank you,” the little punk mutters back in disinterest and Oliver swallows back the hot retort that he immediately wants to make. 

“Okay, throw me a bone here kid. What do I call you?”

Another shake of the head. _ For fuck’s sake. _

“Oh come on, you’re killing me, Smalls.” 

At this, the kid falls still in concern, fixing him with a serious stare. 

“I don’t wanna kill you!” 

Oh ho ho. _ Bingo. _The kid’s a sap. Easy mark. 

“Well, if you tell me what I can call you, I promise not to die.” 

The kid (he’s pretty sure it’s a girl at this point, based on the voice, but he’s still not proof positive) considers this for a moment, staring at him with wide, solemn eyes. 

“You promise?” 

“Totally.” 

The twerp sighs heavily, as if this information sharing is _ seriously _a hardship, and then flaps its arms once in defeat. 

“Don’t tell anyone I told you. I’m not s’posed to-”

“-talk to strangers, yeah, I know. I won’t tell. So what’s your name?” 

“I’m BEE!” The kid yelps delightedly and Oliver nods, his suspicions confirmed (ish). So it_ is _ a girl. He flashes her a grin and a thumbs up with one hand, while he mashes down the ‘CALL’ button with the other.

Time to call the exterminator to handle his little ‘Bee’ problem.

But almost as though she’s sensed his treachery, the little small fry pushes herself up onto her feet and grins at him. Watching her move, he can see that there’s a gingerness to her movements, though clearly her injuries - whatever they are - aren’t stopping her from sneaking around the hospital unimpeded. With an animated wave, she sways back and forth on the balls of her feet before him, looking annoyingly happy. 

“I gotta go. Bye Grumpy Guy!” She whoops softly and then she scurries out of the room, leaving a thoroughly shell-shocked Oliver in her wake. Alone once more, he looks around the empty room, almost wishing someone else had been present to witness that dizzyingly weird interaction.

“What the actual fuck?” He scoffs aloud, glancing around the room to be sure that there’s no other aggravating little children lurking around the corner. He doesn’t see any, but who’s to say? Apparently they’re coming out of the woodwork in this place. 

When the nurse shows up, he begs off and claims he bumped the button, too tired to make anything more convincing up. No point in reporting a rogue little kid if said little kid isn’t present to take into custody, right? Besides, there’s still a small part of him that’s afraid he hallucinated the whole damn thing and he’s not about to make a fool of himself in front of the nurse. 

So instead, Oliver settles back against the pillows and tries to calm his mind. With the meds on board, he’s relatively pain free, so it doesn’t take too long before he feels himself drifting off. And this time, there’s no pint sized peanut to wake him up, so in short order Oliver’s drifted off to the land of dreams. 

Oddly enough, he dreams of bees. 

That damn kid.


	2. Chapter 2

The rest of the day goes by in a blur between napping half the day away and his ensuing tests. Oliver’s cardiac and pulmonary functions are evaluated and he’s forced to endure a neurological exam. At the end, they inform him that he does not appear to have suffered any brain damage, to which he can only offer a mock enthused ‘yay’ while giving the intern overseeing his exam a death glare. 

So his brain isn’t scrambled. Who gives a shit? Maybe if his brain _ was _damaged, he wouldn’t be sitting here dwelling on how miserable life without his dad is going to be. Maybe if he’d hit his head a little harder, he wouldn’t even remember who the hell Sara Lance was or why her death has him so rattled. 

But no yeah, it’s _ great news _that he doesn’t have brain damage. Cue the eye rolling here, if he could actually roll his eyes without wanting to pass out from the pain. 

He also goes for an MRI and some x-rays. At the end of his barrage of tests, he’s rolled back to his room and left to his own devices once more. The problem of course, being that he doesn’t _ have _any devices to occupy himself with. So instead, he flips mindlessly through TV channels until the shift change, when his new nurse comes in to say hello. 

He’s already forgotten her name ten seconds after she says it because honestly, he doesn’t really give a damn, but when she’s about to leave the room, he stops her.

“Doctor Schwartz had said she would make certain that my mother and sister were notified that I was awake. I haven’t heard anything from either of them. Can you please check to see if they were informed? And also, I’d really like to get their contact information for myself, so that I can call them from the room phone.” 

The nurse (Becca? Emily? Oh hell. He doesn’t know) stares at him for a moment and gives a nod. 

“I think Doctor Schwartz has left for the day but I’ll send her a message and find that out for you. But if the area code isn’t local, I’m afraid you won’t be able to dial out from your room phone,” the nurse explains and Oliver gnashes his teeth irritably. 

“What’s the area code for the hospital?” 

When she tells him, he exhales through his nose so forcefully, he probably bears a strong resemblance to a fire breathing dragon. Of course it’s not the same area code that he and his family have for their cell phones. Because _ that _would have been too fucking much to ask for. Taking the hint, the nurse scoots out of his room and Oliver finds himself once more alone as he contemplates anything and everything under the stars. 

What the hell is up with the universe? Is this some kind of karmic return for all the stupid bullshit he got up to in high school and beyond? If so, he’s totally calling foul. He was just a kid. How is the world gonna come slap him with some bad karma just because he was a little rowdy back in the day? 

Okay… perhaps he had been more than a little rowdy. But _ still _ \- the point remains that life has dealt him a string of seriously fucked up cards and whatever the reason, he’s over it. It would be really nice if once, _ just once, _ he could not get kicked while he’s down. Ever since he woke up from this whole mess, it’s felt like one blow after another. And he’s really ready to catch his breath. And see his family. And if he’s going to do that, he needs someone to fucking _ call them _and tell them he’s awake. 

All he wants right now is to be around the people that know him and care for him. He wants to be around people that share his grief and are just as twisted up inside as he is over the losses they’ve endured due to the yacht wreck. 

He doesn’t want to be surrounded by strangers in the hospital.

But as the night lengthens, he has to finally face the music; if his family was notified, then they’ve elected not to come. Which is honestly pretty fucked up, in his opinion. But not exactly outside the realm of possibilities, if he’s being honest. 

The Queens might love each other but they’re shit at showing it sometimes. 

The night is a restless one for him; despite the pain meds, he gets crappy sleep. And sure, he napped half the day away, but he’s pretty fucking tired because healing is exhausting business. But over the course of the night, the same god awful flashes of color loop before his eyes. The blues remain ever vivid; the angry sapphire of the water exploding into the ship’s interior. The bright, crystal blue of the water as seen from below the surface, backlit by the lightning overhead. The brackish cobalt of the sea swirling beneath him as the Gambit gets sucked down into the watery depths. But even as he’s assaulted by shades of blue, bright cardinal red seeps across his vision. Firetruck red. _ Blood red. _He sees it all in a broken kaleidoscope and when he wakes, his heart is hammering within his chest and his body is bathed in sweat. 

Nightmares of the yacht sinking, and of seeing blood in the water are the last thing that he needs and the furthest thing from helpful. A look at the clock shows that it is morning, a fact which the pale, early morning light coming through the window confirms. The doctors will probably be rounding soon but until they arrive, he is still on his own. 

Glancing around his room, however, he quickly sees that he actually is not alone - his tiny insect invader has returned and this time she’s sitting on the floor, coloring on a piece of paper. There’s a tiny red crayon clutched in her left hand and she’s attempting to doodle something on the page. She doesn’t seem to realize he’s awake at first, so Oliver watches her in silence for a few minutes. Bee screws her face up with concentration as she touches the crayon to the paper but to his eyes, the ensuing marks are just unintelligible scribbling. 

“What the heck is that supposed to be?” He grumbles the words, half asleep and still pissy as he struggles to sit up some. Failing that, he settles for a half sitting, half lying down position that is neither comfortable nor effective for getting a better look at what Bee’s up to. 

In response to his questioning, he hears a muted scuffle and then her tiny head pops up over the edge of his bed as she rises to her feet, her wide eyes blinking at him just over the mattress. 

“I’m coloring!” Her voice is a bright little high pitched sound that he’d swear is damn near a falsetto, and he winces as he takes it in. Even the twerp’s voice is practically an instant headache in the making.

“Yeah thanks Sherlock, I can see that. _ What _are you coloring?”

At this she falls quiet and stares grumpily at the paper, which she ducks down to scoop up off the floor. When she retrieves it and holds it up for him to see, he still can’t make heads or tails of what he’s looking at. If you’ve seen one kid scribble, you’ve seen them all, right? Whatever she’s drawn, it doesn’t resemble anything actually found on planet Earth and he’ll argue that with anyone. 

“It’s a car,” she trills, though there’s a warbling, wavering quality to her voice that makes it clear she isn’t so sure about it. “See? Thems the doors, thems the wheels,” she explains, jabbing a finger from her cast encumbered right side as she showcases the components that make up her car squiggle. 

Oliver watches with raised eyebrows, totally unsold on this whole ‘car’ B.S. 

“If you say so, kid.” 

There’s a moment where he thinks he may have gone too far; she seems to tremble with emotion, shaking damn near like a leaf. Then, just when he’s about to start back pedaling and apologizing (he _ so _ does _ not _have the energy or strength to listen to this pesky thing cry) she straightens up and throws her chin out before her stubbornly. 

“Itsa abstrax car,” she announces haughtily and Oliver crinkles his brow in concentration as he tries to figure out what the hell the kid is actually trying to say. Kid speak is so not his lingo. 

“Abstrax?” He mutters under his breath, his mind running a mile a minute. And then he hits on it. _ Abstract _. The shrimp is actually defending her lack of artistic capabilities by claiming it’s a stylistic choice on her part. Lord help him. Despite his irritation with her, he can’t help but huff a quiet chuckle under his breath.

An abstract car. That’s... actually kinda fucking funny. 

“Yeah, okay. You got me there, Bee. I take it back. It’s definitely an abstract car.” There’s mockery in his tone and a heavy hint of sarcasm but she doesn’t seem to pick up on this and instead, she seems mollified by his words. Her little head disappears from his bedside and she plops back down to the floor. A few seconds later, the steady scratch of crayon on paper resumes and he can’t help but wonder what other ‘abstrax’ creations she’s busy bringing forth. 

He’s actually genuinely curious enough that he forgets that he’s supposed to be annoyed by her acting as interloper to his rest and recuperation. If she showed up again, he had planned to immediately hit his call button and just wait to see if the responding nurse was able to see Bee or not (he’s not discounting the possibility his brain has cooked her up all on its own. The baby intern doctors could be way off base and his brain could have more trauma than they know. Bee could totally be the product of his own imagination).

But now that she’s here and he’s bored as hell and not exactly keen on going back to sleep and the nightmares of the yacht sinking and bloody ocean water, what’s a few more minutes? Precisely how annoying can she possibly be if he just gives her a couple minutes more? He can at least attempt to figure out why the heck she keeps turning up here - if indeed she is real.

“Hey,” he grumbles at the back of her head, just barely visible as he sits up a bit to try and see her better. There’s no response though and he hears the crayon continue to scrape against the paper. With a sigh, he tries again, intentionally softening his tone to come across as less grumpy and intimidating (he hasn’t forgotten that she called him ‘Grumpy Guy’ when she left yesterday).

“Hey Bee?”

This time the crayon sound falls still and quick as a wink, she pops up at his bedside again, alarming him - though less than before. He’s getting at least a _ little _better at anticipating her seemingly limitless kid energy. 

“Yeah?!” She asks brightly, a red, a blue, and a green crayon all clutched tightly in her left hand. 

“What are you doing in my room? Don’t you maybe have a room of your own to be in? Maybe a room with someplace for you to color other than on the floor?” What he doesn’t say but thinks to himself is ‘_ someplace not near here, ideally?’ _

She scrunches up her face at this and stares at him quite seriously. 

“Yeah, I gotsa room.” 

“So why aren’t you in _ your _room?!” 

At this she shrugs, her head shrinking down against her shoulders in a way that gives him the distinct impression of a turtle retreating within its shell. 

“Come on kid, why are you in here?” 

“You gotsa window and I can see allll the peoples out there! I like watching them. But I don’t like it when the doctors poke me. They say it won’t hurt but I _ always _say ‘Oww’ ‘cause it hurts a lot. A lot a lot. They don’t find me in here though.” 

Well shit. If it was just because of the fucking window that would be one thing. But the fact that she’s hiding out in here to avoid being poked and prodded like a human pincushion? He can’t exactly fault her for that. 

“There’s a lot of other rooms in the hospital though. I bet you could see them all if you tried a different room other than this one,” he suggests, clinging to the hope that he’ll be able to convince her to move on and stop haunting his hospital room. 

“I already been to the other rooms. I like this one mostest,” she responds with a crinkle nosed grin and Oliver has to shut his eyes and inhale once deeply to avoid shouting at her to get the hell out. 

Why does he have to be the one to wind up with a small child hanging around like a bad rash? Shouldn’t that happen to someone who’s actually _ good _ with kids? He’s twenty two for chrissakes. Kids are so _ not _in his wheelhouse. Tequila shots and keggers? That’s more his brand. 

Sidling his hand over to the railing of the bed, he hits the CALL button once again. He’s interrogated the tiny monster enough and she’s still hanging around. If he’s lucky, he can get the nurse to rid him of the kid. Or the nurse can confirm his suspicions that he might be totally losing it and Bee here is just a figment of his imagination. Either way, he’s going to tackle this nonsense head on. 

Before the nurse arrives, however, there’s a kerfuffle out in the hallway. Oliver can’t see from his vantage point what’s going on but there’s urgent voices ricocheting indistinctly and the sounds of movement. Though he cranes his neck to see, this only earns him a very uncomfortable muscle spasm. Glancing at the twerp, who has since gone back to coloring, he decides to make use of her.

“Bee. Go see what’s happening out in the hallway for me, will you?” 

The frantic activity has got him riled up, though he’s not really sure why. Maybe it reminds him of the overwhelming sense of panic he felt on the night of the accident, which is still entirely too fresh in his mind. Whatever the case, he’d rather know what the hell is going on than have to sit here and listen without really knowing. 

Bee pops up and gives him a dutiful nod before she scampers towards the door, her bandaged head bobbing on her way until she glues herself to the doorway in her little kid attempts at subtlety. He watches as she peeks out into the hall and stares intently at the goings on. 

She doesn’t linger too long; she stays there for a solid twenty seconds or so, then she comes swooping back to his bedside and leans in towards him. When she speaks, it’s with a conspiratorial whisper and he can’t help but roll his eyes, though inwardly he’s also chuckling.

“The nurses had to go into the room next to you. That’s Mister Johnson’s room. They said ‘he’s crashing!’ and they rolled the zappy machine in. Thatsa ‘Code Blue’. They use a lot of codes,” she explains matter of factly, beaming as she leans in closer still to him for the next bit. “The Doctor told me they use codes cause theys all super secret heroes! And heroes gotsa have code names and secret codes. Thems the rules.” 

Oliver nods faintly and offers up a false smile for her as he processes this information. Most of that was a bunch of garbled kid malarkey. But hidden amongst all of it there were actually a few useful details. So someone in the room next door crashed and the ICU staff had to respond. It makes sense and while Oliver doesn’t really give a shit about his neighbor or the codes the hospital staff employ, he’s suddenly seeing a glimmer of potential in this whole ‘Bee’ situation. 

Before he can say anything more to Bee, however, there’s the sound of footsteps out in the hall, headed straight for the room. To his great surprise, Bee hears them too and before you can say ‘kiddo’, she scoops up her crayons, presses the paper towards him, and vanishes beneath his bed.

“Mister Queen, so sorry for the wait. You rang?” The nurse is a moderately pretty brunette and she hovers in the doorway expectantly. Wherever Bee has disappeared to, she’s apparently done a decent enough job hiding that the nurse can’t see her. Or she’s not real. But after her acting as a scout to tell him what was going on in the hallway, he’s beginning to suspect she’s real and not just a figment of his busted up brain. 

“Oh. Um. Did I?” He responds lamely, opting not to rat out Bee now that he’s actually got the chance to. Her stunt reporting to him on what was happening in the hallway has given him some ideas, all of which require he stay on her good side and keep her lurking around this vicinity. If he gets her busted, none of that will happen. “I guess I’d take something to drink, if you could do that for me? Not water. Maybe a soda? Or some coffee?” 

The nurse frowns at him, her brows raised.

“Doctor Schwartz doesn’t want you to have any caffeinated beverages while your head wound is healing. Is there something else you’d like to request instead?” 

_ Oh for Pete’s sake. _ He can’t catch a break. No caffeine _ and _no booze? Seriously? 

“Fine. I don’t know. Gatorade? Something that isn’t water, for crying out loud.” 

“We’ve got Gatorade. How’s orange sound?” 

“Just great,” Oliver mutters, irritable once more as the nurse departs. When the coast is clear, he hears a faint rustle and the squeak of rubber on tile and then there’s Bee, grinning at him from the opposite side of his bed.

“What are you some kind of invisible ninja? Where did you go?” He queries and she giggles in response, still holding her precious crayons tight in her good hand. 

“I’m real good at hide n’ seek!” 

“Yeah, I’m getting that impression.” 

“Can I have Gatorade too?” 

“Are you supposed to have Gatorade?” He asks, though why he doesn’t know. Who gives a shit? It’s Gatorade. It’s not gonna kill her. Or at least, he doesn’t think it will. In response, she shrugs and Oliver gives the absolute faintest shake of his head, so minute it doesn’t even hurt him. Baby steps.

“Sure. You can have some Gatorade. _ If _you agree to help me,” he offers, watching as Bee’s eyes grow wide as she takes in his words.

“I like helping!” 

“Great. I need you to be my eyes and ears. I want you to follow the nurse to the nurse’s station after she gets back. And I need you to listen to _ everything _she says, then come back and tell me what you hear. Alright?” 

“Yeah!” She beams earnestly, prancing in place with excitement. “And then you tell me a story?” She asks and at this Oliver stops dead.

“What now?”

“A story! You tell me a story when I get back?” 

“I thought you wanted Gatorade? I can give you orange Gatorade when you get back. Doesn’t that sound good?” 

“No!! I want you to tell me a story!” She insists and Oliver starts to pinch his nose out of habit, only to yelp in pain as he is sharply reminded of the fact that his nose was only recently broken and is still very much in the early stages of healing. 

“Okay yeah whatever,” he growls, the fake kind tone slipping as his impatience and pain get the better of him. “You go listen to the nurse for me and I’ll tell you a story.” 

“You promise?!”

“Sure. I promise.” 

“YAY!” 

She runs in a tight little circle, her arms flung out behind her like she’s a bird or an airplane or something and she giggles and whoops a couple times in joy. Oliver sits watching her, exhausted just by being in proximity to such limitless energy. When there’s a knock at the door to his room and Bee suddenly falls silent and vanishes, Oliver’s sense of relief is almost palpable. 

Bee might prove to be a useful little pest but at the end of the day, she’s still just that: a pest. 

The nurse enters with the requested bottle of orange Gatorade and Oliver accepts it indifferently, his focus now entirely shifted. Time to get some fucking answers. And if he can’t get them directly, he’s got his new little secret weapon to get them through less traditional methods. 

“So I asked yesterday about my mom and sister. What’s the word on them? Have they been notified that I’m awake?” 

“Let me check with Doctor Schwartz; she was the one who spoke with them so she’ll know more for you.” 

“Did they say when they would be coming by? Have they called?”

“I really don’t know, Mister Qu- _ Oliver _,” she explains and Oliver nods faintly, selfishly satisfied that word has apparently gotten around that he doesn’t take kindly to being called ‘Mister Queen’. “I’ll have Doctor Schwartz speak to you about it when she does her rounds. She and the interns should be starting shortly.” At this Oliver says nothing, his eyes dropping to his hands folded atop the hospital bed sheets.

Taking his silence to mean he’s done, the nurse departs, the door making a little ‘click’ behind her when she goes. Not a moment later, Bee pops up, her eyes bright as she stares at him as if waiting for a cue. 

“Go on. Follow her!” Oliver gestures to the door and the kid practically falls over herself to dart out after the nurse, pressed so tightly against the wall that she looks like a ludicrously bad action film. What the hell was he thinking, sending her to eavesdrop like this? The kid’s gonna get busted in two seconds flat with moves like that. 

It feels like hours pass and Oliver’s convinced that Bee’s gone and gotten herself caught. Damn kid can’t even make herself useful. He breaks into the Gatorade bottle, wishing it was a handle of tequila instead, and he begins to drown his sorrows. He’s halfway through the bottle when the door opens suddenly and in slides Bee, breathless and pleased as punch. 

“Alright kid, you made it back!” 

Shocked that she actually managed to avoid getting caught, Oliver catches himself before he gets his hopes up too much now that she’s returned. He has to wait and see what kind of goods she can cough up before he considers this a solid investment on his part. 

“Okay Bee, come over here and tell Ollie what you heard,” he gestures towards the head of his bed but she makes no move to get near him, her nose scrunching up in disgust. For a moment he doesn’t get why she’s being fussy, then he remembers. She doesn’t like the nickname ‘Ollie’. 

“Oh for crying out loud, fine kid. Come tell your good buddy _ Oliver _ everything that you heard,” he corrects himself and she grins and comes darting over to his bedside. She can’t seem to stand still and he’d swear she’s the physical embodiment of the expression ‘ants in your pants’. 

“Okay, don’t hold it in. What’d the nurse say?” Oliver queries intently and Bee grins proudly.

“She went to talk to the other nurse, the meanie one,” Bee begins and Oliver refrains from groaning. Come on. She’s got to have more (and better) details than this. Otherwise this was a stupid waste of time. 

“Okay yeah great, what else?” 

“She said ‘Mister Queen wants to know ‘bout his mom and his sister’,” Bee goes so far as to do her best attempt at mimicking the voice of the nurse and to his surprise, it’s a halfway decent impression. For a kid, that is. 

“And then what?”

“Then the meanie nurse said ‘what’d you say?’ and the nice nurse said ‘Nothing! I’m not telling him his mom’s in a… in a…” Bee trails off, her little face scrunched up in concentration as she struggles with whatever the next word is. If she had a power button, he’d turn her off and then on again to restart her. It’s like she’s briefly short circuited.

“In a what, Bee?”

“A metal health ‘stution for beef counslin’!” Bee finally spits out the words and Oliver’s brows knit together as he tries to riddle this out. A metal health stution? He rolls it around in his brain for half a second and then it clicks with perfect clarity. 

_ A mental health institution?! _ His _ mother_?!

No way. He can’t fathom Moira Queen getting checked into a facility like that. Even assuming she needed help of that nature, his mother is all about appearances. She certainly wouldn’t do anything public enough for a couple of nurses in a different facility to know about it. That can’t be right. He considers the second part of Bee’s intel. ‘Beef counslin’... does she mean _ grief counseling? _

Shit. That… that actually tracks. He has a readier time seeing his mother allowing herself to be placed in such a facility if her grief over the loss of his father was that profound. It’s a little surprising, honestly, since Oliver has never considered his parents particularly in love with each other. But then again, if his mom also had thought Oliver was dead, or never going to recover, he can see her having more of a breakdown. 

His mom has a lot of flaws but at the end of the day, Oliver knows she loves him and his sister, even if she’s not great at showing it. And something happening to one of them would certainly be enough to push her over the edge.

Before he can dwell further on all of this though, he feels an insistent little tug on the sleeve of his hospital gown. When he looks down, he flinches because _ there’s Bee, _tugging at his arm, her big ol’ bug eyes staring up at him expectantly. 

“I get my story now?” It’s phrased as a question but he can already tell from her tone that the kid means business. 

“Uhh yeah, about that… Listen Bee. I’ll umm… I’ll tell you a story later.” He has way too much on his mind to even begin to consider telling her some stupid nursery rhyme from memory. 

“But I did the listening! I was super sneaky and now you’re s’posed to tell me a story!” 

“Later, Bee!” He just wants the pipsqueak to scram but she’s getting worked up and he doesn’t have the energy or the patience for this right now. 

“Not later, _ now _!” She stamps a little foot as she says ‘now’ for added emphasis but her attempts to sway him only have the opposite of her intended result. He’s knuckling down and totally against telling her a story but thankfully, he comes up with the perfect out to spare him from doing so.

“Bee, do you hear that? I think Doctor Schwartz is coming!” He whispers to her in mock alarm and right away, her eyes grow round as coins and she goes scooting for the door.

“I gotta go!” She whispers as she flees. When the door clicks faintly behind her, Oliver smiles and settles back against the pillows, taking another drink of his Gatorade. Ah. Sweet silence. Finally (mercifully) alone, he considers this news. His mother has gone - either willingly or no - into a facility to help her with her grief. Well… That explains why she hasn’t shown up at his bedside. With a pang, he wonders if Thea is doing alright, with a recently deceased father, a mother having a mental breakdown, and a brother cracked up like Humpty freaking Dumpty. The poor kid is probably a mess. This is a lot of shit to deal with at twelve years old. He wonders who is with her, if his mother is gone. Raisa, probably. He hopes that’s the case. He doesn’t like to think of his baby sister being left alone and vulnerable _ ever _but especially not at a time like this. He’s got to work out a way of getting word to her that he’s awake and he’s going to be okay. 

But that also means he has to actually be okay. Which means he’s got to actually listen to the damn doctors and behave himself in the hospital so he can get better and get out of here. Ugh.


	3. Chapter 3

“I’m sorry it’s taken this long for me to have a good answer for you on this, Oliver,” Doctor Schwartz explains after she dismisses the interns following their rounds on Oliver later that same morning. “I had a heck of a time tracking down your mother. As you may be aware, we take our privacy laws very seriously in the medical field. It’s been no small matter to confirm your mother’s whereabouts and get permission to share her status with you. She’s considered stable for now but at risk. Your mother… Oliver, I’m going to be honest. The yacht accident was hard on her. And when it seemed that you might be in dire shape yourself, it was just too much for her.” 

“So she checked herself into a facility?” 

“She didn’t have much of a choice. She was bottoming out fast and she needed to get help, if not for her sake than for your sister’s. She’s going to need to stay in the facility for several weeks until her doctors are satisfied she’s not at acute risk of relapse.” 

“And my sister?” 

“Is staying with loved ones, I am told. I’m sorry, I don’t have anything more than that,” the doctor finished, folding her arms before her as she looked at him with surprising empathy. “How are you doing?” 

“Oh just great. Why wouldn’t I be? My dad’s dead, my mom cracked up because of me, and my sister is all alone. What’s there to be upset about?” He sighs and shuts his eyes, wishing he could block out the world. This is all just _ so _fucked up. 

“Oliver, none of this is your fault. You didn’t sink the yacht. You didn’t cause your mother’s breakdown. And your sister isn’t alone - she still has you. Even if she isn’t with you, she knows you’re here. I know it feels like the world is a messed up place - and don’t get me wrong, it is - but you aren’t out of reasons to be hopeful just yet. Hang in there. My team and I are going to get you through this.” 

She offers him a thin, sad smile and departs, leaving him once more to his own devices. 

Bee doesn’t come back for the rest of the day and he’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed. Obnoxious little shit that she is, at least she’s a temporary reprieve from the fuckery of this whole situation. He glances over to his nightstand, at the scribbled ‘abstrax’ car drawing she left with him earlier. If he squints, he can sort of see what might pass for a car in some alternate universe. It’s crappy, that’s for sure, but despite that he can’t help but grin. 

At the bottom of the page, there’s a squiggle that he initially dismissed as just another meaningless curlique but which he now thinks, upon further review, might be a signature. But not a traditional signature - just one single letter. A haphazard, angular looking capital letter ‘B’ is what it looks like to his eyes now. 

“Well I’ll be damned. It’s a Bee original,” he mutters in amusement, chuckling to himself at the very thought that he’s got an original piece of ‘abstrax’ art by Bee. 

With a pang, he realizes he kind of hopes that this isn't the last crappy drawing he sees of hers. The little twerp at least made the time pass more quickly. Without her, he’s bored as hell. He actually resorts to flipping through the wasteland of daytime TV programming. It gets so bad he even stops for a while to watch Jeopardy and The Price is Right.

Clearly, he’s got brain damage. There’s no other explanation for him watching _ Jeopardy_.

It’s late afternoon when the doc shows up again and when she slips into his room, she’s biting her lips to hold back a smile. 

“So, I pulled some strings and well, let’s just say I think you’re going to need this,” she goes to the nightstand by his bed and pulls the landline, receiver and all, off the table and places it in his lap instead. She checks her watch for the time and grins. “I’d say sometime in the next five minutes or so, you should expect a call.” 

With no further explanation, Doctor Schwartz departs the room with a wink and a wave and Oliver can only blink in surprise and wonder as he stares at the phone before him. His fingers twine nervously in the cord as he waits, his heart drumming anxiously. 

When the phone rings at last (three minutes after Doctor Schwartz left, not that he’s counting), he’s almost breathless as he swoops it out of its cradle on the first ring.

“Hello?!”

There’s a crackle of static and then silence for a beat before a familiar and yet simultaneously foreign voice reaches his ears.

“Ollie?” 

“Thea?!” He nearly shouts, wincing as his temple throbs. _ No shouting. _ “You sound weird. Are you alright, Speedy? How are you? Who are you staying with?!” 

He’s got a million and one questions for her and they leave him in a torrent of words. He’s stumbling over himself to voice them all at once. 

“I’m okay. I’m sick. I lost my voice and I had a sore throat and a fever. I’m better now though,” she explains and he’s so overjoyed to be hearing her voice that he doesn’t even mock her for sounding weird. “I’m staying with Raisa. She’s taking good care of me.” 

Oliver feels his heart warm at the notion of the two of them taking care of each other. He wishes he could reach through the phone to hug Thea and he longs to thank Raisa for going so far above and beyond the call of duty by tending to his little sis. 

“I was worried about you, Speedy.” 

“I was worried about _ you _Ollie. Are you… are you okay?” 

“I’m better now,” he confesses and blinks back tears as he stares up at the ceiling, more grateful than he can begin to explain for this phone call. 

“Are you gonna have surgery?”

“I don’t know yet. But I promise, I’m gonna be okay, Thea. I’m gonna get out of here in no time and then you and I will go out for Big Belly Burger. My treat. Deal?” 

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Then it’s a deal.” 

“Hey Speedy?”

“Yeah Ollie?” 

“Think you can ask Raisa to bring you to the hospital for a visit?” 

“I asked your doctor when she called earlier, Ollie. She said since I’m sick, I need to stay away because it’s important you don’t get sick in case you have to have surgery,” Thea’s voice is almost a whimper and Oliver grinds his teeth as his eyes slam shut. This… this hurts. A lot. He just wants to see his little sister for fuck’s sake. 

“Hey that’s okay. No worries. When you’re better, we can ask Raisa to bring you by. Deal?” 

“Deal!” 

“Speedy?”

“Ollie?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

Grudgingly, he hangs up the phone. As grateful as he is to have gotten to speak to Thea, he’s also more than a little devastated too. She can’t come to visit him because the doctors don’t want her to get him sick. Which probably means they think him having surgery is a decently strong possibility. And that sucks. That sucks _ a lot. _He just wants to get out of this damn hospital room and back to his life. 

But he knows that isn’t possible. Because the life he wants to get back to is gone. Even assuming he makes it out of here in one (relative) piece, he’s not going back to what he knows and loves. He’s going back to a broken family. And he is nowhere near close to having his ducks in a row enough to be responsible for his little sister while his Mom pulls herself together. What the hell are they going to do? 

The rest of the day passes in a fog; left to himself, Oliver sinks deeper and deeper into a quagmire of moroseness. Stress and tension creep into his limbs and settle into his chest and behind his eyes. There’s a pounding in his head as the pressure builds and it’s all he can do to get through the night as he tosses and turns, worries for his kid sister and his mom keeping him up. What little sleep he gets comes in snatches of a few minutes here, a couple minutes there.

More nightmares of the ocean. Fractured shards of color. Blood red. Ocean blue. Tangles of dark green interweave like angry arms of sea kelp, threatening to pull him down into the depths of the ocean to drown.

By the time the doctors do their morning rounds the next day, he’s exhausted from lack of good sleep. Honestly, he’s an utter disaster and he feels like shit. He’s not sure if he’s getting a cold or what, but he’s a sniffling freaking mess and his body aches like he got hit by bus. He doesn’t have a mirror around to know if he also _ looks _like crap but he’s willing to bet that he does. But as Doctor Schwartz reviews his charts, the fact that he feels terrible begins to take on new meaning. 

“Oliver, your blood pressure is much, _ much _ higher than I would like it to be. And you’ve got a very minor amount of cerebrospinal fluid leakage from your nose,” she admits to him, which makes him feel the exact opposite of calm.

“MY BRAIN IS LEAKING?!” he shouts, only for her to lay a hand on his shoulder, restraining him easily - he’s in no condition to fight her. 

“It is only a very acceptably small quantity of cerebrospinal fluid. And I’m hoping that if we can get your blood pressure down, it will stop. Your lungs are still incredibly weak, Oliver. If I can avoid sending you to surgery, I want to. A little fluid leaking is alright. We can manage that. A lot of fluid leaking is what we can’t have. So I need you to calm down and breathe with me, okay?” 

“Oh yeah, I’ll just calm right the hell down. Should be easy since my brain goo is leaking out of me, I’m sure being catatonic should come real easily!” he rants, getting entirely worked up as he struggles against her hand as he tries to sit up. 

Doctor Schwartz says something he doesn’t quite catch and the next thing he knows, one of the interns is injecting something into him intravenously. The last thing he remembers is Doctor Schwartz looming above him, doing her level best to talk him down.

“Breathe, Oliver. Breathe with me. You’re okay. Just relax.” 

And then he’s lost into a murky gloom; sable and onyx and raven and coal. The somber hues swallow him whole and Oliver can’t tell if he’s alive or dead or back in the howling storm, lost at sea the night of the Gambit sinking. 

✦✦✦✦✦

It’s dark and moonlight is streaming in through his window when he wakes, the acute pounding in his head greatly diminished, though it’s been replaced with a dull, constant throbbing. 

With difficulty, he pushes himself up on the pillows a little more and glances around. He’s not sure how much time has passed since the doctors knocked him out with meds; a glance at the bedside clock shows him it’s a little after quarter past two in the morning. 

Well shit. How strong was the stuff they doped him up with if he’s slept this long?! That seems excessive. But then he remembers the miserable pressure in his head, the fear over his cerebrospinal fluid leaking out of his nose, and his unbridled fear and fury.

Okay. So perhaps it was an appropriate response after all. 

Before he can contemplate this at length, he hears a prolonged creak as the door to his room opens, a sliver of soft gold fluorescent light penetrating the darkness. The silhouette of a child is backlit by the hall lights and just as quickly as the door closes, the light is gone. 

There’s a quiet rustle and the faintest patter of bare feet on the cold hospital flooring and then a little head pops up at the side of his bed, a pair of gleaming eyes boring into his. 

“Psst!”

He knows that it’s Bee. And he was already wide awake before she came in. But he still isn’t sure he’s cut out for dealing with her right now. In answer, he only groans and shifts a little away from her, wondering if she’ll take the hint and go.

As it turns out, she takes **_a_** hint; it’s just not the one he was trying to give her. 

She takes his movement away from her as an invitation and suddenly the little cretin is crawling up onto the bed beside him, prompting him to wrench away so as to avoid getting clocked in the face by her hefty arm cast.

“Bee!” he grumbles in exasperation. “What are you doing?”

“I had a bad dream,” she responds back in a faint, tremulous voice that’s entirely lacking her usual confidence and the spit and vinegar he’s come to associate with her. 

“Yeah, join the club,” he mutters, though already he’s softening as he makes space for her. She could be somebody else’s kid sister. And if Thea were alone in the hospital, he would want the person she sought out for comfort to be kind to her. With that in mind, he heaves a sigh and tries to tap into his more empathetic side. Which is less of a ‘side’ and more of a tiny patch in the fabric of materials that make up ‘Oliver Queen’ but hey, it’s there. 

“Alright. Yeah, climb on up. Tell old Oliver all about it.” 

At his invitation, she scoots flush against him, snuggling her head against his shoulder and contorting her little body so that she’s pressed up against him. Ordinarily he doesn’t object to having a girl sharing his bed but this is ah… not really his idea of a good time. Especially since the kid is a frigging furnace - she _ radiates _heat and he’s already sweating. Jesus. 

“It was scary,” she whispers to him, clearly shaken and he nods minutely, angling his head so he can look at her a little better in the dark. 

“Do you remember what happened?” 

At this she nods and her hands bunch beneath her chin as she seems to coil into a frightened little ball before his eyes. It’s a far cry from the brazen little spitfire that waltzed into his room the other day. 

“Do you want to tell me about it?” 

A wordless shrug is her only response and he bites back his exasperation to try and be a bit more understanding. She’s a scared little kid in a hospital full of strangers, hurting and healing, and she’s just had a bad dream. He can’t exactly blame her for not being forthcoming with her feelings. 

Feelings aren’t exactly his forte. And neither is being forthcoming, honestly. 

“Well, if you tell me what you remember, I might be able to help.” 

She stares at him in uncertainty and he can tell, she’s not entirely convinced. Tough crowd. After a couple long minutes of silence, he hears her inhale deeply and her little shoulders lift before she nods at him.

“I had a dream ‘bout the accident,” she murmurs into his ear as a tremor runs through her little body. 

For a moment he almost thinks she’s referring to the yacht sinking and he’s utterly confused until he realizes that she’s referring to the reason _ she’s _in here. Up ‘till now, he hasn’t really paid her enough mind to consider why exactly the little girl’s been in the hospital. But now that she’s said this, he can’t help but ask. 

“Hey Bee?” A quiet sniffle is all he gets for reaction but that’s enough. “What happened? I mean… your accident? Is that why you’re in the hospital?” 

She doesn’t speak, just sniffles again and then, faintly, her little head moves against his shoulder in a pathetic little nod that… actually has him feeling sorry for the little twerp. 

“What kind of accident was it?” 

There’s more sniffling and then he feels moisture against his shirt. _ Shit. _ She’s crying. He’s curious now but a child is already out of his comfort zone - a _ crying child? _That’s not something an amateur like him is equipped to handle. Nope. 

“Woah, hey it’s okay! You don’t have to talk about it. Want me to talk about something else?” He offers and there’s another plaintive little sniffle and she nods. 

“Want a story,” she whimpers and Oliver’s gut twists nervously. _ Oh crap. _She’s back on the story thing? He doesn’t have any ideas for that and truthfully, he kinda put it out of his mind once he’d gotten the info he wanted from her and her eavesdropping. 

Scrambling, he starts grasping at straws. What stories does he know? 

“You know the story of the Three Little Pigs?” 

“I don’t want that one,” she answers back hotly and he rolls his eyes in the dark. Of course she doesn’t want that. 

“Goldilocks?” 

“No.” 

“Uhh… The Ugly Duckling?” 

“Blech!”

“Oh come on Bee. Hansel and Gretel?” 

He’s grasping at straws now. She’s shot down what few stories he has vague memories of. And at this last, she shakes her bandaged head emphatically. Another veto. Damn. 

“What kind of story do you want?” Oliver finally asks, only allowing a little of the ire he’s currently feeling to show. The rest he manages to hide. Mostly. 

“A story with heroes! And bad guys!” Bee warbles delightedly and Oliver, though surprised, tries to think of what stories he knows that might fit the bill. 

“How about Robin Hood? You ever heard about him?” 

She nods, not seeming impressed at this suggestion.

“What? You don’t like Robin Hood?” 

In answer, she shrugs from her vantage curled up beside him. 

“He’s okay I guess.” 

“He’s okay _ you guess? _Good grief kid, you’re some critic. What am I supposed to do, make up a brand new story for you?”

As soon as the words have left his mouth, he instantly regrets them; even in the dark, he can see the way her eyes grow wide and gleam in the moonlight, her whole body almost aglow with an effervescent joy. 

“YEAH! BRAND NEW STORY” she whoops loudly in his ear and he groans and claps a hand to the side of his face. _ Fuck. _That hurt. Sensing his displeasure, Bee instantly quiets and settles back down against him, her little face pressed close to his as she whispers in his ear. 

“What’s the brand new story about?” Already she’s poking and prodding and fishing for information and he doesn’t have the slightest clue what he’s gonna tell her about. Scrambling and at his wit’s end, he decides he can just do a Robin Hood 2.0 sort of thing. After all, she’s flat out dismissed all his other suggestions - Robin Hood at least got a lukewarm response. Better that than a total rejection, right? 

“Umm… it’s about a vigilante guy who uh… he fights bad guys with a bow and an arrow.” 

He’s braced for her to refuse this idea outright but instead she scrunches up her face in thought and she sits up from her spot beside him, a questioning look in her eyes.

“Whassa v’lante?” 

“A vigilante?” He repeats and she nods, clearly unfamiliar with the word. “It’s a person who uh… well they aren’t police officers but they still try to protect people. They just… do things differently.”

“How?”

Good grief.

“Umm…let’s see. How to explain morally gray to a kid…” he mutters under his breath. “Okay so a vigilante might try to help someone. And to help someone, they might have to break the law, you see? So breaking the law is bad and the police would be mad at them for it but they only break the law to help people. So vigilantes sometimes do bad things but for good reasons.” 

At this, she narrows her eyes at him and for a moment, he’s afraid he’s utterly confused her. The reality turns out to be much more terrifying. He’s educated her - and she’s understood him with perfect clarity. 

“Like Robin Hood?” 

“No, not like Robin Hood!” He scoffs even as his voice goes up in pitch as he fears being caught. He’s practically sweating bullets at her perceptiveness. He should have known she’d be a pest even if he did tell her a story. She stares at him harder and he relents. “Okay, a little like Robin Hood. But our guy is totally different from Robin Hood. Trust me.” How or why he’s totally different, Oliver doesn’t yet know. But he’s got to sell her on the idea that this is an original story, not some cheap knockoff. 

“What’s his name?” 

Oh shit. Shit shit _ shit shit. _

“Umm his name? His name is uh… ‘The Hood’.” 

At this, she wrinkles her nose up in disgust.

“Thatsa dumb name,” she remarks and Oliver’s about to tell her off when he catches himself because… actually… she’s right. That’s a really fucking stupid name. 

“Okay, what about ‘The Arrow’?”

Another crinkled nose. Another head shake. God help him, how’s he supposed to get through an entire story when she won’t even approve of any of his name ideas for the main character? 

“Okay girl genius. What about…” he searches for something, some stupid little way of making the name palatable. “...What about ‘The Green Arrow’?” He offers at last and at this she falls still, contemplating.

“Is he green?” Bee asks, curiosity spiking in her tone. Oliver snorts. What is the guy, an alien from outer space? No. He’s not adding another layer of complexity to what is already shaping up to be one hell of a mess of a story. And sci fi? Totally not his territory.

“No! His umm... his _ suit _ is green!” He fires back on a whim. “Because all heroes need suits, right?” Bee considers this for a long few seconds, staring at him critically. 

“Yeah, you’re right. Doctor Schwartz says that’s why the doctors all gotta wear them white jackets. That’s their suits!” This is apparently top secret information, because she whispers it to him - as if there’s anyone else around to hear - and then she reclines back from him, contemplating. “The Green Arrow’s an okay name, I guess.” 

Thank heavens. One hurdle down. Just...infinity more to go. She’s still staring up at him expectantly, he realizes, so he clears his throat, wincing at the resultant, painful sensation in his head at doing so, and then he continues.

“Well The Green Arrow he umm… he fights to protect his city. It’s a… a mission he was given by his dad!” Yeah. That sounds good. His eyes flicker over to her face for confirmation; she doesn’t seem upset so he carries on. “His dad told him about bad people in the city, bad people who would try to hurt the city and all the people in it.” 

“What’re the bad guys called?” 

He grinds to a halt at this, scrambling for a name or a backstory that just doesn’t want to come. 

“Umm. They have a lot of names. There’s a lot of bad guys. But The Green Arrow knows who they are and one by one, he takes them down.” 

“How’s he know?” 

Lord give him strength. This was a horrible idea. Her questions are going to be the death of him. 

“He knows because he… he’s got a list!” 

People make lists of things they need from the grocery store every day. Why wouldn’t a hero make a list of the bad guys he’s got to hunt down? 

“He can’t have a list! That’s too easy!” Bee sneers and Oliver prickles, feeling a little protective of his fictional creation. 

“Okay well he’s only a hero with training wheels at the moment, cut him some slack,” Oliver shoots back defensively and Bee shrugs but falls quiet. “His dad gave him the list, see? And so The Green Arrow travels all across his home city, hunting down and killing the bad guys.” 

He feels Bee go completely stiff beside him and suddenly there’s a tiny, clammy hand on the right side of his face as she stares into his eyes seriously.

“He can’t _ kill them! _That makes him a bad guy!” 

Oliver’s so tired. He’s tired and his head hurts and he doesn’t have it in him to come up with a million different scenarios until he finds one she approves of. He’s already contorted this crappy story to fit her wishes how many times in the span of a couple minutes. He can’t keep doing it. And if he’s stuck telling a story, damn it, he’s gonna make it a legit action story. And that means bloodshed. Spoken stories don’t have to worry about BS theater ratings. 

“Kid, this is the story, take it or leave it.” 

“Killing is for bad guys!” Bee protests again, still holding tight to his face. “He can’t be a hero and be a bad guy!” 

“Well he’s not a hero. He’s a vigilante. Remember? Vigilantes do bad things but for good reasons? So yeah, he’s gonna kill the bad guys. But then they can’t hurt good people anymore. Bad thing. Good reason.” 

“I don’t want a v’lante story no more!” Bee crows, shaking her head angrily. “You said hero story! That’s why he had to have a hero suit! No more v’lante!” 

Well… shit. She’s got him there. 

“Uhh… okay, here’s the thing Bee. The Green Arrow… he’s _ going _ to be a hero… Eventually. He’s just not a hero _ yet,” _Oliver explains on the fly as he does his best to roll with the punches she keeps throwing at him. “So right now, he’s a vigilante. And he kills people. But when he starts to become a hero, he won’t kill anymore. Deal?” 

Her little fingers curl against his face, her nails just barely scraping against his skin as she scowls at him intently, as if to verify that he’s telling the truth. Whatever she finds in his eyes must convince her that he’s not lying because she seems placated when she finally draws her hand away. With a breathy huff, she curls back up next to him, her head nestled against his shoulder once more, her cast clad arm resting heavily across her middle. 

“Okay… He’s a hero ‘ventually. Deal.” 

Despite his annoyance, Oliver finds himself smiling as she quiets down beside him. The steady rise and fall of her breathing is oddly comforting and he finds himself relaxing as he focuses on her and just lets the story flow freely, saying whatever comes to mind first. 

“So The Green Arrow goes around under cover of night, protecting his city from bad guys. And there are a _ lot _of bad guys. His list is long. It could take him a long time to cross off all the names on it. Years, maybe. But he doesn’t care. The Green Arrow just keeps working on the list, night after night after night. He finds an empty building to use as his secret base. Every day, he’s just a normal guy. But every night, he is a hooded deliverer of justice!”

Woah. He’s… actually getting into this a little? Smiling proudly to himself, Oliver glances down for Bee’s take on it all, only to find that the twerp has actually fallen asleep. Her shuttered eyelids and thick lashes his her bright eyes from view. Her lips are parted and she’s snoring only ever so faintly, her breathing marked by the softest little whistle.

And sure, it’s a nuisance to be forced to share his own already small hospital bed. And it’s a bother to have his arm going numb beneath her weight as he sits idly by listening to her breathing. But there’s also something intrinsically reassuring about the solid weight of her (even if she is generating an uncomfortable, seemingly impossible quantity of heat. And there’s something about listening to her breathe that puts him at ease and quiets the roaring fear and the prowling stressors within his mind. And in that ease and that reassurance, he finds peace. 

So it is that not long after he discovers Bee has drifted off, Oliver does likewise. 

✦✦✦✦✦

He wakes quietly, to the soft sound of a woman’s voice making a gentle shushing sound. Stirring, he blinks to find the room is only dimly lit with muted beams of early morning light. Standing over him is one of the nurses, who is making the quiet, reassuring noises he’s heard. The reason becomes abundantly obvious momentarily; she straightens and Oliver sees that she’s got Bee’s little figure collected in her arms. Judging by the slack nature of her body and the way her limbs dangle, the kid’s still asleep. The thought of Bee getting some much needed, nightmare free sleep makes him smile, right up until he realizes she’s also gotten caught in his room and that alone might spell trouble for the mini Houdini. 

He shuffles into a more vertical position, his throat muscles working quickly as he struggles to find his voice before the nurse gets out the door with Bee. 

“Nurse?” 

For the life of him he still can’t recall her name. Shit. 

“Nurse wait. Is she ah… Is she alright?” Oliver indicates Bee with a swift inclination of his head and to his tremendous relief, the nurse turns to look at him and smiles. 

“She’s fine, just sound asleep. I’m sorry if she disturbed you. I’ll bring her back to her room and once she’s settled, I’ll come back to check on you, if that’s alright?” 

Oliver nods, his eyes still following the seemingly lifeless little figure of Bee as the Nurse carries her from the room without further ado. So much for his secret weapon. Now the hospital staff knows she’s snuck into his room. The good news? Bee is definitely real if the Nurse can see and interact with her. So, upside? He’s not crazy after all. And while he’d been feeling pretty confident that Bee was real, the confirmation that he’s not completely losing it is not unwelcome. The bad news however? Now his life is about to get tremendously boring if they decide to keep the small fry under lock and key.

He’d never admit it out loud but he’s actually starting to take a shine to the wee monster. 

The nurse returns a short while later, and she approaches his bedside with a kind smile. This is the same nurse Oliver asked after his family the other day; Bee had referred to her as the ‘nice nurse’. 

“Is there anything you need, Oliver? I hope your unexpected visitor there didn’t disturb you.” 

“Who, Bee? No, she was fine,” Oliver shakes off the suggestion, even though truthfully okay yeah, Bee is a pest. But he can’t actually _ say _that to the nurse or they’ll probably make a point of keeping the squirt out of here. Then how would he pass the time? 

He doesn’t want to find out. After all, the hospital TV only gets daytime channels and he still hasn’t bribed anyone into getting him satellite TV or something so that his options are better than soap operas or Jeopardy. 

“And no, I’m fine. Thanks though.” Oliver answers the nurse’s question belatedly, looking up at her with a brief smile of appreciation. With that, she goes about making her assessments of him, jotting down a few notes on his chart in the process. As she returns his chart to the holder for it at the foot of his bed, she fixes him with an appreciative stare. 

“Thank you, for putting up with her. Bee, that is,” she clarifies. “I’m afraid she hasn’t gotten many visitors since she’s been hospitalized and it was starting to take a toll. But since she started coming in here and spending time with you, she’s been in better spirits.” 

Oliver blinks at the nurse in surprise and then tries to play it off.

“You got all that from her sneaking in here last night?” Oliver bluffs and the nurse rolls her eyes at him. 

“Oh please. All of the ICU floor staff are very well aware of Bee’s ‘Houdini’ tendencies. We would have stopped her from coming in here but you never said anything, so we thought she must not be bothering you. And no one had the heart to let on to Bee that she’s not err… quite as ‘stealthy’ as she thinks she is. We figured if you were both happy with the arrangement, we would let it go on until one of you wasn’t.” 

“You mean you guys have seriously known this whole time?” 

“Every single time she takes off her monitors, it sends an alarm to the nurse’s station. But even if that didn’t happen? It’s kind of hard to miss the kid with a bandaged head and an arm in a cast scooting around on the floor, hiding behind IV poles and ducking around gurneys as she tries to cross the entire block of rooms to get over here.” At this, the nurse winks at him good naturedly and Oliver can’t help but chuckle.

“She was that obvious, huh?” 

“She even makes her own sound effects as she goes. It’s adorable but definitely not a master class in subtlety.” 

“You’re lying.” 

“On my honor. My favorite is when she says ‘zoom’ just before she scurries across an open space very quickly. Or when she makes a soft ‘whoosh’ noise whenever she’s trying to be invisible while pressed up against a wall in plain sight.” 

Oliver can’t help but laugh at this; he’s able to imagine this all too easily. Bee scooting around, making little ‘swoosh’ and ‘pop’ and ‘pow’ sounds for added effect as she goes. He can envision her making the sounds, like something right off a comic book page. The kid definitely has a flair for the dramatic. He sobers, however, as his mind circles back to what the nurse had originally said about the little pipsqueak though. _ She hasn’t gotten many visitors. _

“Where are her people? I mean, she’s got people, doesn’t she?” It’s hard to imagine a child with so much zest for life _ not _having people who care about her. But hey, crazier things have happened. 

At this question, the nurse’s expression takes on a melancholy twist. 

“She has people,” she nods, clasping her hands in front of her, “but not as many as she used to, I’m afraid. The accident she was in? She lost one of her parents in it. And that… that’s been very hard for her. I don’t think she understands it fully but she understands it enough to be heartbroken. And her remaining parent has been working around the clock trying to keep up with everything piling up on the family.” 

At this, Oliver’s attention grows more focused. So she’s still got _ someone _ left in the world. That’s good. But the idea that Bee’s family has been through so much already, and that they’re still going through things as they try to navigate her hospitalization? That cuts him to the quick. The surviving parent having to work ‘around the clock’ just _ screams _‘mountain of hospital bill debt’ and he feels a little ashamed that he himself hasn’t ever had to fret over a bill. But something like this? He can only imagine how costly a hospital stay as involved as Bee’s might be to a working class family. 

“Her hospital bills… how much are they?” Oliver queries, and the nurse shakes her head. 

“I don’t know the specifics and even if I did, I shouldn’t say. I’ve already said too much. Suffice it to say, Bee was in pretty bad shape when she arrived at the hospital. Her lungs collapsed, she had blood filling her chest cavity. They tried a nonsurgical approach but it failed, so she ended up having surgery. She had a ventilator breathing for her because her lungs were so weak, she needed blood transfusions because she’d lost so much blood, she was getting pumped full of fluids and meds, all kinds of things. For a while we weren’t sure she was going to pull through. So, her hospital bills are… well, they’re substantial. It’s taken a lot to get her to this point.” 

The nurse sighs and Oliver can tell that this part of the job? This part is hard on her. It must be hard on all of them, he realizes. Providing the care that people need to get well, knowing that that very care can and in many cases _ will _ make their lives that much harder once they get out. 

What a Catch-22. Or at least, he thinks it’s a Catch-22. He never actually read the book in school, he just paid off a kid to do his report on it. 

The nurse departs and Oliver is left to contemplate this new information about Bee. The kid’s been through the ringer - he knows that for certain now. And the very idea of that tiny little creature going under the knife? Well, that’s scary. She’s so _ small. _ He’s glad to only have met her now, when the worst seems to have passed for her. Lung collapse and emergency surgery under her belt, Bee seems (in his eyes, at least) to be recuperating well. And he’s glad for that. At least _ one _of them is. Leaking brain fluid - even in what is apparently considered an ‘acceptably small’ quantity - doesn’t exactly inspire confidence that he’s making much of a recovery himself.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s some hours later before Bee makes it back to his room and this time, Oliver can’t help but chuckle audibly as she slips inside; now that he’s listening for it, he can just hear the whispered hum of what sounds like - to his ears - her own little theme music. The kid’s a freaking riot.

When the door closes behind her, she straightens and flashes him a wide grin before she hurries over to his bedside. She’s got a stack of paper in her good hand and she’s wedged a number of crayons between her hand and her cast on the broken arm. 

Well. Points for ingenuity, he supposes? 

“Coloring today, I take it?” He asks as she begins to unpack her crayon stash one by one and… how many crayons has she wedged into that cast? Red, blue, green, pink, black, purple, brown, and yellow are plucked out from where she has slotted them into her cast and he can only shake his head in amazement. 

“You know you could make a fortune in the smuggling business if this whole annoying kid bit doesn’t pan out for you,” he teases and she frowns at him uncomprehendingly. 

“What?” 

“Nothing. Forget I said anything. So you’re here to color, huh? More ‘abstrax’ stuff?” 

At this she shakes her head and instead plucks up the green crayon and holds it before her proudly. 

“I’m gonna color the story!” She announces to him and for a minute, he has absolutely no clue what she’s talking about until he recalls his mad, late night scramble to tell her something to appease her. 

Oh. So. She’s still on that? Crap. 

“Ohhh…. That’s… _ nice,_” he laughs uneasily, forcing a smile. “Well you have fun with that, I’m just going to see what’s on TV-” he begins to grab for the remote, only to have her bat his hand away with a wave of her hand and what is a surprisingly wilting glare. 

“No TV! We gotta color!” 

_ We? _

“Hold up, I didn’t sign up for that. They’re _ your _ crayons. _ You _color. I’ll watch.” These words earn him a prolonged, narrow-eyed stare as she wags a crayon at him. 

“We gotta color The Green Arrow!” 

As he watches, she takes a piece of paper and hands it over to him and then she plucks up the green crayon once more and passes it to him expectantly. He stares at her, at a complete loss. 

“You’re really not gonna let this go, are you?” Oliver sighs and glances around for some surface on which to write. Catching sight of the sliding tray meant to be used for him to eat his meals on, he motions to it with his head. “Okay tiger. Go wheel that thing over here and we’ll color.” 

With a whoop, she scurries over to the meal tray and pushes it towards him. In short order, she’s clambered up onto the bed with him and is sitting beside him, watching intently as he colors. It’s… rough going. Oliver is no artist. He does a little stick figure and then draws a green suit over the top of it, drawing a simple circle over its head to act as the hood he had mentioned when brainstorming the character aloud. After a quick scribble to fill the suit in with green, he holds the paper aloft for her to inspect. 

“He needs a mask!” Bee points out and Oliver sighs.

“He’s got a hood, what does he need a mask for?” 

“He needs a mask for keepin’ his face a secret from the bad guys!” She insists, waving the crayon before him pointedly. With a sigh, he grabs it up and scribbles a mask across the face of the drawing, prompting Bee to clap delightedly beside him. Stifling a smile at her simple joy over the doodle, Oliver tries to escape from coloring now that he’s finished The Green Arrow. 

“Alright, that was fun. It’s all you now, Bee. Color away.” 

“But you aren’t done coloring!” She shoots back in an unhurried, self assured way and Oliver can only stare at her.

“What do you mean I’m not done? We colored The Green Arrow. That’s it. He’s the only character in the story, except for the bad guys.” 

“Nuh uh,” she shakes her head. “What about his bow and arrows? And what about his friends? Does he have a pet?!” She questions suddenly and Oliver feels completely bombarded and unprepared. 

“Uh okay, we’ll draw his bow and arrows,” he agrees, sliding the paper back towards him so he can hurriedly add a crappy bow and a single arrow to either of The Green Arrow’s hands. As for the rest? He can get out of that, he’s certain. 

“The Green Arrow doesn’t have any friends. He works alone. And he doesn’t have any pets.” Oliver explains and there’s a quiet gasp of horror from Bee in response.

“He _ has _to have friends!” She counters him and Oliver groans irritably. The last thing this half assed story needs is more characters to keep straight. 

“No Bee, he protects the city on his own. It’s his mission from his dad, it’s not for anyone else to be involved in. He has to do this by himself. Alone. That’s the only way it can work.” 

“No. Not alone. He could get _ lonely!” _ She beseeches him and Oliver has to close his eyes to refrain from stabbing himself in the ears with the crayons so he doesn’t have to listen to more of this. _ Everyone’s a critic. _

“He won’t get lonely, he’ll be fine. He likes to be alone.” Oliver tries to assuage her but when he looks down at her, he can see there are tears in her eyes threatening to spill over. _ Shit. _

“No one likes to be alone all the time,” she sniffs and with a pang, he recalls what the nurse had said, about Bee not getting very many visitors. About how the accident that landed her in here also cost her a loved one. No wonder the kid is sensitive about the issue of being left on one’s own. 

Double shit. He’s gonna do it, isn’t he? Yeah. He is. He’s gonna alter the story to fit the narrative she’d rather hear him tell. God, being in here has made him such a sucker. But one last look at her quivering lower lip is all it takes - he’s done for. 

“Okay, okay, okay. Fine. He’s not alone,” Oliver acquiesces and Bee smiles at him through her tears.

“He has friends?!”

“Yeah, he has friends.” _ Plural._ This blows. He’s not doing more than the bare minimum though, so this dude is only getting two friends because Oliver will be damned if he’s gonna make this story more complicated than it has to be. 

“Who are his friends?” Bee queries brightly, totally invested and how the hell did he wind up back here, back in this storytelling quagmire once again? 

“Umm. He’s known them since they were all kids,” he grasps, reaching desperately now. He’s keenly aware that he hasn’t really answered her first question but she’s already off to the next one. 

“Are they boys or girls?” 

He pauses for a moment to reflect on this and with a pang, he considers his own childhood friends. _ Tommy and Laurel. _He hasn’t heard from Laurel but quite frankly, he’s relieved not to have had to handle that situation. That… that’s a can of worms he isn’t ready to open. Talking about Sara and why she was on the Gambit to begin with? Maybe it makes him a coward, but he’s not there yet. Shirking Laurel and ‘the talk’ is much more his speed. 

And Tommy? Tommy is hard to think of. He misses his best friend and is more than a little wounded that he hasn’t turned up at his bedside. By charming some of the nurses, he has been able to persuade them to track Tommy down for him by having them call the Merlyn family home. The answer has been less than appealing - his best buddy is on vacation in Corto Maltese, where the Merlyns have their own private villa. 

Still, he makes a mental note to ask about contacting his best friend. With all the confusion over his mother and Thea and the distraction that Bee has provided, Oliver’s focus has been too split to really focus on Tommy. He doesn’t even know if anyone’s informed Tommy about the accident - or Oliver’s survival of it. But with Thea alone, he’d really like his best friend to fly back here and maybe help keep an eye on her. Tommy’s always looked at Thea like the younger sister he never had. Oliver’s certain he’ll be only too eager to look after her until Oliver can do so properly. 

“Umm. One of each? He’s friends with one boy and one girl.” This earns him an agreeable nod, so he leans into it and tries to add a little pizazz to the story. “And they don’t know that he’s The Green Arrow.” 

She scowls up at him so fast it makes his head spin. This is what he gets for trying to go the ol’ razzle dazzle route. If there’s a sound effect to partner with this reaction from Bee, it’s the sound of squealing tires because Oliver’s pretty sure he’s headed for trouble based on her expression.

“They don’t know?!” 

“No?” He responds back, less confident than he was just a moment ago. “They’re friends with his alter ego? They don’t know he’s a vigilante by night.” 

“But then that means they can’t help him!” Bee complains and Oliver scrambles to set it back to rights. 

“Well… no, they can’t help him protect the city but they can be his friends the rest of the time, when he’s a normal guy?” 

“That’s not good ‘nuff! He needs help keepin’ the city safe!” She’s gotten all growly and as he watches, she folds her arms in front of herself, thoroughly disgruntled. 

“What is it, Bee? You don’t like The Green Arrow’s friends?” The shake of her head he gets back by way of response is so exaggerated, it makes the whole hospital bed shake. “Okay, okay. Message received. He can have different friends, I guess.” 

“Friends that help him be a hero not a v’lante!” There’s no missing the demanding tone to her voice. The kid is really not about to relent on her firm stance that The Green Arrow be a hero, not a vigilante. He really should never have introduced that word to her vocabulary. 

“Yeah, sure. Friends that help him become a hero.” 

This satisfies her. Bee settles back down and passes him a black crayon and a fresh piece of paper. And he already knows where this is going, but when she speaks up to explain, he can’t help but groan.

“You draw ‘em!” 

He’s gone from storyteller to illustrator. At this rate, she’s going to have him editing and publishing this bullshit story before he’s out of this hospital if he’s not careful. What a boost to his playboy image - from Starling City’s most eligible bachelor lists to children’s book author and illustrator. The newspaper headlines practically write themselves. Good lord, he needs an escape button from this storytelling mess. 

He racks his brain as he scrambles to come up with a concept for this friend but eventually he gives up and just lets the crayon go across the page. In short order, he’s got a pretty tough looking (for a stick figure) guy dressed in black leather, with a couple of guns holstered at his side. 

“This is uh...The Spartan. He’s The Green Arrow’s first friend. He’s his partner and they’re such good friends, they’re practically brothers,” Oliver explains. “The Spartan always has The Green Arrow’s back. They protect the city from the bad guys _ together,_” he emphasizes, sneaking a peek at Bee as he says this. “And The Spartan gives him all kinds of good advice.” 

Every story needs a Yoda figure, right? Why not have this guy sort of fit that bill? 

“He’s strong and smart and he believes in The Green Arrow’s mission, so he joins him and makes it his mission too. The Spartan has the best, most deadly aim in all the land. He can shoot down anything.”

“Is he nice?” 

Wha-... _ Is he nice? _This is an action story! Only a plucky kid like her would care about the temperament of a character like this in a fictional action story. Ugh. 

“Yeah, sure, he’s really nice. Nicer than The Green Arrow, even.” 

“That’s why The Green Arrow’s a v’lante, right? Because he’s not very nice. And he’s a little grumpy.” Bee comments and Oliver just stares at her, floored. Where is she getting this from? 

“I’m sorry, I don’t recall saying that he was not nice. _ Or _grumpy, for that matter.” Oliver attempts to correct her. And really, he ought to know better. Because in a matter of moments, she lays a serious smackdown on him.

“Then how come he’s not smiling?” Bee points out as she jabs a finger at The Green Arrow drawing from earlier and… well shit. She’s got him there. For a mouth, Oliver has only drawn a thin, straight line on The Green Arrow, whereas he’s gone and given The Spartan a slightly upturned smile. 

Sonofabitch. 

“Okay, sure. The Green Arrow is a little grumpy. And maybe he’s not the nicest. But yeah, The Spartan is nice and he can make The Green Arrow nicer too. Satisfied?” 

Bee gives a bouncing nod, her crooked little teeth showing as she beams up at him and passes another piece of paper his way. Oliver snatches it up, relieved to be on the last of the drawings. Now if he can just think up _ what _to draw…

“Who else is him’s friends?” Bee can’t help herself and while the constant barrage of questions is annoying, he’s also unable to shake the warm sense of joy it gives him to be providing her with entertainment that is apparently quite to her liking, if her voracious appetite for this story is any indication. Or… maybe she’s just that desperate for entertainment. Whatever the case, _ he’s _ happy to be making _ her _ happy. And that’s enough. 

“His other friend is… umm…” Oliver tries to dwell on all the action movies he’s seen. There’s always the in the field characters, but there’s also always the behind the scenes character, the puppetmaster pulling the strings from above. 

“The Overwatch,” he announces crisply, plucking up the pink crayon as he sets about the latest doodle with great verve. “She is the eyes and ears for The Green Arrow and The Spartan. She uses computers and technology to look over the whole city,” he explains, drawing out the ‘o’ in ‘whole’ as he does so. “She’s smart and brave and even though she doesn’t go fight the bad guys with her hands and feet, she helps The Green Arrow and The Spartan to fight them with her mind. That’s her superpower.” 

Bee is enthralled as he places the finishing touches on his doodle of the second friend of The Green Arrow. He’s drawn her with yellow blonde hair and a pink blouse, sitting at a desk and staring at a computer screen behind black glasses. In one hand, she holds a red pen - in the other, a mouse as she works on her computer. 

“And she helps make The Green Arrow not so grumpy?!” Bee questions and Oliver huffs a soft laugh. 

“Yeah, sure Bee. She makes him not so grumpy.” 

“And they’re all friends?” 

“Mhmm. They’re all friends. They’re more than friends. They are a team. They’re a family.” 

“I like that.” Bee sighs contentedly, holding up the three drawings and studying them with a far off smile. Oliver sees her smile and feels his own lips pull upward in turn. 

“Yeah? Me too.” 

✦✦✦✦✦

Oliver falls into a steady rhythm of sorts; each morning, the doctors round on him, keeping close tabs on his pulmonary and cardiac values. And each and every day, at some point during daylight or moonlight hours, Bee pops by his room with all the nonchalant entitlement that only children can truly pull off well. Each time, she slides into his room like she’s a CIA agent out in the field, completely unawares that literally the entire floor knows about her running off to Oliver’s room. No one has the heart to break it to her; she seems to have entirely too much fun attempting to sneak around. 

Crayons are a staple in their time spent together. When the well loved little sticks of color are worn right up to the paper, it is Oliver’s job to peel back the paper lining for Bee, her right hand being somewhat less up to the challenge, given the cast she’s got on it. 

Some days they color. Some days they talk. And by talk, he of course means Bee asks questions and he answers them. Every day, Bee asks for a little more of the story. Oliver conjures up a formidable villain for their vigilante-destined-to-be-hero to face off with. The Dark Archer is as skilled in combat as The Green Arrow. But where The Green Arrow undertakes his mission for the good of all, The Dark Archer is motivated by hatred and anger. He spreads discord throughout the city and seeks to demolish entire swaths of the city with a doomsday device. 

Bee, the ever watchful editor in chief to his story, is quick to confirm with Oliver that The Dark Archer doesn’t win. He’s not exactly keen on giving spoilers away but he also wants to banish the worry in her eyes. Oliver assures her that The Green Arrow will put a stop to The Dark Archer’s plans. But she must wait and listen to find out how he does that. 

A drawing of The Dark Archer is quickly created to join the other drawings Oliver has already done. He’s honestly a little surprised by his own imagination. He’s managed to, on the fly, come up with a passably amusing story for Bee. And judging by how invested she is, it’s more than reasonably entertaining - he’s got her hook, line, and sinker. 

She tootles in one day just before lunch service, sans crayons and paper, and without waiting for an invitation she hops right up onto his bed alongside him. _ This freaking kid acts like she owns the place. _It’s his own fault for letting her walk all over him but he can’t help it. The kid’s been through hell and it doesn’t cost him that much, really, just to be nice to her. 

“What’s up, sport?” he questions her upon her arrival and she shrugs and falls back upon the pillows with a groan. 

“What’s the matter, Bee?” Oliver tries to pry, gently at first. “Cat got your tongue?” He chuckles and she shoots him an unamused stare. 

“No,” she murmurs mournfully and Oliver feels his skin prickle, instantly on edge and worried that something has happened to her.

“What’s wrong?” He asks his little sidekick and she sighs and burrows against him, pressing her face into his arm. When she answers, her voice is a muffled sound but he’s able to make out the words well enough. 

“It’s almost _ Halloween_...” she trails off glumly and Oliver heaves a relieved sigh. This? This is totally no big. He was terrified something had gone wrong and she was going to need surgery. 

He can handle a lot but between the hot mess express that are his family’s issues right now and his own jacked up recovery, the last thing he can take is seeing Bee crash. Loathe to admit that he cares about her though he is, Oliver knows that trying to endure something such as that just might break him. 

“Well that’s not such a bad thing, is it? Halloween’s supposed to be fun!” 

“It’s not fun if you can’t go trick o’ treatin’!!” She wails, burying her face against him hard enough that he can feel her little nose mashing into his shoulder. Ouch. 

He ponders this for a moment and then he decides right then and there what he’s going to do. He’s not sure why exactly he decides to do it; he’s just creating work for himself. And it’s definitely nothing that’s in his wheelhouse. But if Bee can’t go do Halloween because she’s stuck in here, then he’s going to bring Halloween to _ her. _

“Bee, what if you _ could _go trick or treating? Right here in the hospital. Would you go?” 

She turns to face him slowly, with eyes so wide and bulging out of her head that he’s afraid she’s going to seriously damage herself if she doesn’t pull it together. The kid has absolutely no chill though. 

“I could get candy?”

“I don’t see why not.” 

“And dress up?” 

“Sure.” 

At this her eyes gleam and he can feel her start to quiver with excitement beside him. Crap. If this is her without any sugar on board, what the hell has he just signed himself up for by agreeing to let her trick or treat in the hospital? A sugared up Bee? No one needs that. Least of all him. But her rosy cheeked smile banishes his doubts. 

He’s totally doing this.

✦✦✦✦✦

“And you got the cotton spider web stuff?” 

“For the last time Oliver, _ yes!” _ Doctor Schwartz chuckles as she tries to press her stethoscope to his back to listen to his lungs. “Now please, _ be quiet!” _She chides as she places the ear pieces back into her ears and listens intently for some long seconds. When she finally pulls the stethoscope away though, Oliver’s off to the races again.

“What about Halloween themed snacks? Worms in dirt? Caramel covered apples?”

“Yes and yes. We’ve also got peeled tangerines decorated to look like mini pumpkins and peeled bananas with chocolate chip faces on them to look like ghosts.”

“You can’t serve fruit at Halloween! That’s healthy food! Halloween is supposed to be about the candy - having fruit at a Halloween party is downright mean!” 

“This is a hospital, Oliver. Healthy food is what we generally encourage,” the doctor reminds him with a smile. “Don’t worry. The food looks great. One of the nurses made sugar cookies and brought in the icing and sprinkles for Bee to decorate them. She’s already having fun and the party hasn’t even started. You did a good thing, Oliver. Now relax and enjoy the party you put together, hmm?” 

“Just… one more thing? My costume?” 

Doctor Schwartz relents at this, offering him a nod. 

“Ah, yes. It will be here soon. You said you wanted to put it on after Bee does her trick or treating, right?” 

“Yes. I want her to see me for a bit before she sees my costumed ‘alter ego’ for the night,” he chuckles, unable to help the excited flutter in his stomach at her reaction. He has a feeling she’s gonna flip. 

“Alright. You just give us the signal and we’ll get you your costume. Until then - relax and have fun! Doctor’s orders.” 

Doctor Schwartz leaves and Oliver is left to enjoy a remarkably mundane afternoon. It’s no small wonder why - Bee is busy scampering around the ICU, readying it for the afternoon’s festivities. Thankfully, the hospital staff had taken kindly to his request for a Halloween party (he’s sure it doesn’t hurt that he’s the son of a billionaire donor but he prefers to think his charm coupled with the worthiness of the cause is what convinced them, not the money attached to the Queen name). But real talk? Yeah… it was probably fear of the name and the funding that said name provided to the hospital at large. 

So, with the Halloween party Oliver had requested and helped to organize just a couple scant hours away, Bee is busy with any and every available nurse. The ‘nice nurse’ is her closest ally in this endeavor - the pair can be seen conspiring together and adjusting decorations into the _ perfect _ arrangement. Moving things about this way and that, Bee and the nurse organize the ICU into a properly spooky place, complete with skeletons positioned around the nurse’s station and fake bats hanging from the ceiling. There’s cobwebs everywhere and more themed snacks than you could shake a stick at. Bee looks so happy with her new nurse buddy that, honestly, Oliver’s a little jealous. Little miss ‘nice nurse’ better not be moving in on his best little bud. Bee is _ his _little shadow - he doesn’t exactly want to share her with this nurse. Or anyone else, for that matter.

As delighted as she looks from afar though, he’s worried that it won’t be enough for her, that it will somehow fail to meet her expectations. Those fears, however, quickly abate when his door is flung open a moment a little white after the doctor leaves. Oliver looks up, startled, and who should he find standing in his doorway? Why, one tremendously amped little Bee!

“THERE’S A MUMMY OUT THERE!” She squeals as she comes running inside, her arms flapping at her sides as she runs a few laps around the room. “A-And and a FRANKENWINE MONSTER!” She shouts, spinning in place as she says this. Oliver ducks his head to hide his laughter. Frankenwine. That’s a new one. 

“Sounds pretty spooky and Halloween-y to me.” 

“IT’S SO COOL!” She hollers in elation and Oliver feels as though part of him has healed just for sharing in her pure, innocent, child-like joy. 

“I told you we’d bring Halloween to you, didn’t I?” 

“You did you did you did you did!!!” She shouts, gasping for breath when she finishes spinning in circles long enough to fall against his bedside, panting and beaming up at him. Her hundred million gigawatt smile vanishes though when she looks at him for a long second.

“You don’t got a costume?!” She’s clearly not thrilled with this development. 

“I’ve got a costume! I’m just not wearing it yet.” 

For this, he’s rewarded with a suspicious stare and a terse expression as Bee tries to decide whether or not to believe him.

“You gonna wear it later?” 

“Yes. I am going to wear it later.” 

“Promise?!”

“Yes Bee, I promise,” he encourages gently. “After the party starts, I’ll put it on. You’ll see.” He’s on the receiving end of another apprehensive stare but eventually she rolls her shoulders and relents. 

“Okay. You better do it though or else you’re not gonna get candy. You can’t trick o’ treat without a costume,” she informs him seriously, her eyes solemn. 

“That’s good to know, Bee. Thanks.” Oliver responds, doing his level best not to laugh. “We’re getting pretty close to the start of the party though - I think it might be time to put _ your _costume on,” he reminds her and she sucks in a massive breath through her nose, her little nostrils flaring excitedly. 

“I see you later! Bye bye!” 

And just like that, Hurricane Bee is off to her next destination. Oliver knows she’s desperately excited to show him what her costume is. He knows she’s spent almost every waking moment working on it since he first conceived the costume idea. The nurses (especially her favorite one) have been helping her and she’s apparently tickled pink about it. 

When he sees her a short while later, it’s not hard to discern why. 

She’s wearing a kid’s sized hospital gown that has been carefully painted in yellow and black stripes. Upon her head she’s got on a headband that has had black pipe cleaners affixed to it for antennas, and what looks suspiciously like toilet seat covers and toilet paper have been wrapped around some plastic IV tubing and safety pinned to the back of her to act as wings. 

Bee is dressed as a Bumblebee. And that sight alone makes all of the effort Oliver has put into the party worthwhile. But the delighted squeals of joy she releases when they bob for apples in a plastic storage container, or when the nice nurse gives her a snack of ‘eyeballs’ (grapes) and ‘brains’ (spaghetti)? Those go a long way to making him feel good too. 

And to his surprise, he actually has a bit of fun, even when Bee isn’t around - the nursing staff has gone all in - they’re dressed in various costumes to fit the mood. There’s a scarecrow, a kitty cat, a very toned down and non-threatening clown; Doctor Schwartz herself gets in on the fun and turns up dressed like a witch, complete with broomstick and a stuffed animal kitten that Bee is enamored with for half the party, until she realizes that it’s not a _ real _kitty. Some of the other ICU patients participate too, one dressing up as a mummy (owing to the actual, plentiful bandages already in his possession) and another going as a doctor in the borrowed scrubs and lab coat of one of the interns. Perhaps the best surprise of the party comes when Bee’s mother shows up, dressed from head to toe in an actual beekeeper costume. Bee’s obvious delight at seeing her mother warms Oliver’s heart.

He’s… actually made a difference for this kid. That’s kind of awesome. And seeing how happy Bee is to show her mom the Halloween spectacle Oliver helped create? Well, he’s glad he could have a hand in making her that happy, however indirectly. 

“You did a good thing, putting this whole party together for her, Oliver.” Doctor Schwartz has sidled over to him and she now stands beside him, staring at the proceedings over a cup of ‘witch’s brew’ (punch). “This might be the happiest I’ve seen her since she’s been hospitalized.” 

Oliver grins at that notion and his gaze carries over to Bee herself, who’s in the midst of trick or treating by going from one party attendee to the next, an overly large, red medical biobag in her hands as a container for her candy spoils. He chuckles and shakes his head as he watches her go, bold as brass - as always. When she receives a full sized candy bar from the nice nurse, she whoops loudly in joy and flings her arms around the nurse in an enthusiastic hug. And Dr. Schwartz is right - Bee looks as happy as Oliver’s ever seen her. But he’s hoping that they can dial the intensity of her joy up even higher.

“Well, let’s hope she hasn’t had her fill of ‘happy’ just yet,” he winks, sidling towards the door to his room. The doctor raises a brow at him, the corner of her lip ticking upwards just a _ skoch. _

“Time for your alter ego to make his appearance?” 

“Indeed. A hero’s work is never done.” 

He disappears back into his room to change, which proves to be a laborious affair; he’d just given one of the nurses some money and a loose idea of what he’d wanted. Thus, he had wound up with a costume that was perhaps a _ touch _too small, but otherwise in keeping with what he’d been angling for. He can make it work, for the duration of one party at least. He just maybe needs to not eat or drink anything else… And definitely not bend over. 

When he cracks the door to the room a few minutes later, he confirms that Bee is occupied and then slips out towards the bedecked nurse’s station, mindful to keep his cape from getting stuck in the closing room door behind him. The cowl feels especially weird, and so does the cape but he rolls with it as best he can. After all, he’s friggin’ _ Batman_. If that doesn’t get him cool points, he’s not sure what will. If she likes The Green Arrow, Oliver can’t fathom how much more she’ll like an actual, _ legit _hero like Batman. 

“Hey Bee! Come over here, I want you to meet someone,” Doctor Schwartz calls and the little striped bandit comes prancing over, the chocolate smears upon her face making it evident she’s already been hitting the candy. 

He can practically see the sugar rush (and crash) from here. 

“Bee, this is Batman. He’s the hero of the city of Gotham and he heard that you were a very big fan of heroes. Batman, say hello to Bee.” 

Oliver steps forward, attempting to maintain a stoic expression when all he wants to do is grin because he just _ knows _this is going to blow her mind. 

“Hello, Bee. It’s very nice to meet you.” His voice comes out a low growl - deep but hopefully not too scary for the kid. 

True to form, Bee’s reaction runs counter to Oliver’s expectations. When she gets introduced to Oliver as Batman, her little nose wrinkles in distaste, just the way it does when he refers to himself as ‘Ollie’, or when he’s started to build details into The Green Arrow’s story that she doesn’t like. 

“_ You’re _ Batman?” 

Oliver swallows back a proud grin and nods wordlessly. 

“The _ real _ Batman?!” Another nod. He anticipated some questions but perhaps not the prickly, almost _ aggressive _ attitude behind them. 

“Yeah you’re alright,” Bee harrumphs at last, nowhere near as thrilled as Oliver has anticipated she would be. How is that possible?! How has he misread her so badly on this one? He’s mentally scratching his head at her reaction until she pipes up again. 

“But The Green Arrow’s the bestest hero. My friend Oliver’s been tellin’ me allll ‘bout him. He’s a v’lante now but he’s gonna be a hero, Oliver said. And did you know, I’mma dress up like The Green Arrow next year? I already decided. I’m gonna get a bow and arrows and everything!” Bee announces proudly, glancing up at Batman Oliver with scrutiny. “Does you have a bow n’ arrows?” 

“Umm...No?” 

“You should get some. That’s what the best heroes gots!” 

And just like that she scampers off, leaving Oliver to contemplate this advice. He’s torn between having a bruised ego over her complete and utter dismissal of his costume, and total adoration. Bee stood there in front of the entire ICU and professed to like his stupid, made up hero better than the actual _ Batman. _That’s… That’s beyond insane. It’s also flattering in the extreme to think anyone could like something he dreamt up so much as all that. 

But most of all? 

Oliver’s left riding a high because Bee has referred to him as her ‘friend Oliver’. And that? That’s pretty damn cool. Who needs candy or scary movies to make Halloween memorable after something like that? 

✦✦✦✦✦

The emotional high from Halloween lasts all of a couple days before Oliver’s spirits begin to sink and spiral lower and lower. As much as Bee and her antics have transformed from annoying to comforting, not even she can make up for how messed up things in Oliver’s life are. Bee can’t change the fact that people he cares about - _ cared _ about - are dead. Bee can’t change that his mother’s had a breakdown, or that his sister is alone, or that his best friend hasn’t even come by to visit him. Bee can’t make up for the fact that he’s probably going to be stuck having surgery or for the fact that he’s almost always in some quantity of pain these days. 

The teeter to his totter, Bee seems to be greatly improved; Oliver learns from the nursing staff that her pulmonary function has been slowly but steadily improving. On its own, that would be great news - and it is, truly. He’s happy for the kid. She deserves to get out of here and go back to her life. She should be off doing kid things - playing on jungle gyms, drawing chalk art on the sidewalks, playing with the neighbor kids - all that jazz. Instead, she’s still in this hospital, getting poked and prodded like a bad science experiment by a bunch of dim witted interns. 

One of said interns is in his room just a few days after the Halloween party, taking down his vitals and chatting amiably when it happens. One moment, his world is the normal craptastic place that is has been all along; the next, the intern lets slip the news that shakes Oliver to his very core. 

“I’m sure you heard the good news about Bee today?” 

Instantly, Oliver perks up because anything related to Bee is definitely news he wants to hear. 

“No, what happened with Bee?” Stress strikes at his heart swiftly and fear goes roaring through his veins. The intern offers a sanguine smile and continues jotting down notes in Oliver’s chart. 

“Her pulmonary function has improved enough that there’s talk of her going home!” 

He can’t even fake enthusiasm; Oliver feels like the whole frigging world has bottomed out on him. And it’s selfish in the extreme, which just makes him feel like an even bigger asshole but _ what the actual hell _is he going to do without that perky, pesky little twerp around to brighten his days? He doesn’t have a clue and he’s wholly unprepared to find out. This sucks. 

He was just starting to get used to having her as his shadow. And now he’s going to be alone again. 

Oliver makes some noncommittal noise in response to the intern, who eventually gambols out some time later. But Oliver? He’s spiraling. And spiraling _ bad. _Making matters worse, Bee doesn’t come by that afternoon; he finds out later that she was wheeled up for some testing and imaging, so it’s not like she had a choice but still. It sets him on edge and makes him anxious and stressed. 

At the same time, he’s berating himself for getting so bent out of shape over the kid. He never should have let himself get close to her; he should have maintained his indifference and his distance. That would have been preferable to the pickle he finds himself in now. 

That night, he tosses and turns unendingly. Every time his eyelids flicker closed, the eyes of the people he’s lost and let down stare back at him and it’s all he can do not to scream. There’s a rushing, roaring white noise in his head and lancing pain behind his eyes. As he lies in bed trembling with exhaustion and pain, he feels as if his head has swollen to the size of a city block. And then, sometime just before dawn, his emotions get the better of him and he begins to weep for the pending loss of Bee, back to the real world; for the pain he can’t escape; for the deaths of his father and Sara and the burden of guilt he carries from those losses. And it’s all… it’s just _ too much. _He dissolves into a shaking, volatile mess and he’s spiraling more and more out of control with every passing minute.

Sometime in the early morning, he’s distantly aware of someone doing rounds and then there are voices and frenzied activity, shouting and the clattering sound of wheels rolling across the tile floor. Distantly, he’s reminded of the day Bee snuck into the hallway to spy for him and called out that the neighbor had crashed and the staff had responded to the code. He wonders who’s crashing now, for it would certainly seem that the staff are gathering as if to respond to an emergency code. 

At some point, a familiar voice cuts through the fog of pressure and the background noise of the hospital staff. 

“Oliver, listen to me. Your skull fracture is putting pressure on your brain. We were hoping that it would heal on its own so we wouldn’t have to strain your lungs with surgery, but that’s no longer an option.”

“Doctor Schwartz?” Oliver groans, uncertainty in his tone. All of this feels so surreal.

“That’s right, Oliver. It’s me, Doctor Schwartz. Listen to me: your intracranial pressure is too high; if we don’t get you in for surgery, it could cause irreversible brain damage, okay? I need you to try and stay calm. The interns are going to get you ready for surgery and I’m going to meet with the surgical team. You’re going to be fine, you hear me, Oliver? You’re going to be just fine. I just need you to hang in there and be strong, okay?” 

“Yeah. Got it,” he pants through the pain. And at first, he does a passably good job of keeping his cool. Mostly, it’s because he’s too out of it to really process what’s happening and the building pressure and increasing pain makes it hard for him to focus on anything else. 

But as activity continues to swarm the room, Oliver feels a strange sensation. He raises one hand to his face and gingerly touches at the area near his right ear. When he draws his fingers back, there’s a smear of fresh, frighteningly red blood on his fingertips. 

_ Fuck. _That can’t be good. 

“Guys,” his voice is a frightened rasp and he has to clear his throat to stand any chance of making it louder. “GUYS!” He tries again and the room grinds to a screeching halt. “This is bad, right? Like… really bad?” 

He holds his hand aloft, the blood glistening plain as day on his fingers, clearly visible even from a distance. He hears a sputtered expletive and almost simultaneously, one of the interns swoops down on him. 

“He’s bleeding from the ears and I’ve got substantial cerebrospinal fluid leaking from the nose,” the intern announces and Oliver lurches because _ his brain liquid is leaking out his nose? _ He didn’t even feel that. But also what the _ fuck?! _Is he dying? Brain leakage feels like a step removed from death, or being brain dead. And neither of those are attractive options.

It feels as though everything is thrown into chaos then and he can barely keep up with it all. Hell, who’s he kidding? Oliver doesn’t keep up with _ any _ of it - there’s too much going on at once and he’s in too much pain as the tension in his head continues to build and build. His vision swims before him and he knows that _ can’t _be good. 

“Where are we at on something to help with the pain? Because I’m at like an 11 out of 10 on the pain scale,” Oliver gripes, gritting his teeth as he clamps the railing of his bed with white knuckled hands. 

“No pain meds, Oliver. We gotta get you up to surgery and then you’ll get anesthesia. That’ll help more than anything we can give you anyway,” The intern explains and he has to do his best not to scream. No pain meds. He’s got to ride this out until they knock him out for surgery. Great. 

He feels like he’s hearing and seeing everything from a terrible distance, like looking through binoculars the wrong way. It feels like years but in reality, is probably no more than a minute later when the interns move him from his hospital bed and onto a gurney. Before he can really even begin to process anything, he’s being whisked out of his room and wheeled up to surgery with a sense of urgency that penetrates the fog and makes Oliver realize the true severity of the situation.

So apparently he’s not ‘in a tight spot’. He’s just totally fucked, isn’t he? 

In the hallway though, the speed of their departure for the OR hits a snag. It takes Oliver a long few seconds to process that the gurney has stopped, and another few to realize why. Over the fray, Oliver can just pick out Bee’s voice, clear and sharp with worry, the tears almost audible in her tone. The very sound cuts through his panic and pain and rouses him to a more wary state. 

“Whassamatter with my Oliver?! No! Don’t take him, don’t take him!” She’s shouting and it sounds as though she’s struggling against someone holding her back. “HIM’S MY FRIEND! DON’T TAKE MY OLIVER!” It takes everything in him to push himself up so that he’s leaning heavily against one elbow, his neck craning so his bloodshot eyes can sweep the area in search of her. Her constant shouts make pinpointing her location relatively easy. “Don’t take Oliver away!” She’s full blown crying now. _ Fuck. _

He shouldn’t do it. But he can’t help himself.

“Stop!” He grunts as loudly as he can manage, his headache splintering and radiating outward agonizingly. Speech is… getting more difficult. He just tries to focus on the kid, hoping that doing so will ground him long enough to comfort her before they wheel him off to play Operation inside his skull. Not a few feet away, Bee is in the arms of the nice nurse, flailing frantically, her face blotchy red and tear stained. 

“Let… let her come,” he chokes out and the nurse looks to him in surprise but acquiesces. Bee bolts towards the gurney and Oliver feels her clammy little hands land on his, clasping onto him frantically.

“You can’t go. Don’t go. I don’t want you to go,” Bee cries and her tears hurt damn near as much as the torment going on beneath his skull. 

“It’s okay Bee,” he groans, forcing a smile even though he’s in so much pain, he can barely feel his face. “Doctor Schwartz is just going to make my head feel better,” he explains as gently as he can manage, given the circumstances. 

“Your head is hurt?” This is apparently news to her but she sniffles for a few seconds, contemplating this, and then brightens. “Like me?” She points to her own head and he chuckles, nodding.

“Exactly. So Doctor Schwartz is going to take me to do a surgery. I’m going to be gone a while but when I get back, maybe I’ll have a cool bandage on my head just like you. We can be twins.” 

That does the trick. Through her tears, there’s a shy but thrilled little smile and her head bobs a couple times in agreement.

“Okay,” she agrees, snuffling for a moment as her expression turns suddenly mournful. Her voice is quiet when she speaks again, a wobble of fear and concern glaringly apparent. “You promise you’re gonna come back?” 

With a lurch, Oliver recalls what little he’s heard about Bee’s accident. About her losing a parent. And now her terror over losing her friend makes perfect sense. She’s afraid he’s going to leave her - forever. And suddenly, Oliver is more determined than ever to make it back to this kid. 

“Pinky promise.” 

He sticks out the pinky finger on the hand she’s holding and he feels a tiny twig of a pinky wrap around his in solemn agreement. That’s all the more he can really stand though; he can feel everything growing worse and he knows it’s stupid to waste time at a moment like this. But he can’t leave her crying. He just can’t. He’s already let down too many people in his life. He’s not going to let down Bee too, damn it. 

“I’ll be back soon Bee. Go color The Green Arrow and his team, okay?” 

“Okay!” She agrees, her voice still a little shaky, a little unsteady but on the whole, far less terror stricken than it was when she was calling out to him before. The medical team swings into motion once more and Oliver feels Bee’s tiny fingers slip away from his hand. As he chances a final glance behind him, he sees her waving in grandiose fashion, her tear stained face a little less fraught than a moment before.

The rest passes in a blur. He doesn’t remember getting wheeled into the surgical suite but he does remember Doctor Schwartz speaking to him to explain the procedure and reassure him. He’s vaguely aware of a mask being placed over his face and then everything goes to an inky black, blacker than the blackest, deepest depths of the ocean the night of the yacht going down. And once again, Oliver is left alone in that darkness, fighting to come out of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since everyone is feeling emotional after that comic release, I feel that I should plainly state Oliver is going to be a okay. So don't sweat it guys. He's got Bee to help him heal!


	5. Chapter 5

As it turns out, Oliver survives surgery. Which he supposes, he should be grateful for. But with surgery on one’s skull, there’s apparently a few catches and Oliver is quick to learn this. For one, his head feels like it’s been put through a fucking blender. He’s got almost constant head pain and if his head isn’t throbbing, then the bandages wrapped around his skull are itching and irritating his skin. 

The whole situation feels pretty lose-lose from where he’s standing, honestly. 

Further complicating matters, the surgery has strained his already weakened lungs; Oliver’s pulmonary function has taken a hit in the wake of his emergency procedure and already, Doctor Schwartz has talked him through some of the most likely scenarios if he continues to struggle. Presently, he’s got a nasal cannula to deliver oxygen to him to ease the workload on his lungs. 

Some great story of survival he is, bed bound and barely able to breathe. Not for the first time since the accident, dark thoughts parade across Oliver’s mind, including the nearly constant refrain that ‘it should have been me’ - and not his father or Sara - to die when the yacht went down. 

Bee doesn’t come by. Oliver isn’t sure if she’s being kept away or if she’s chosen to steer clear of him, perhaps rattled by how he had looked the last time she’d seen him. And though he longs to ask the hospital staff about her, he doesn’t think he can handle being told she’s been discharged, if that’s in fact what’s happened (and he fears that it has). 

All in all, Oliver feels as though he’s circling the drain. And honestly? He really wishes someone would just flush him the rest of the way down and be done with it. 

Instead, he gets a one on one with the resident plastic surgeon, who explains to Oliver that his broken facial bones will all require some form of surgical intervention if he wants to preserve some sense of his previous bone structure, as well as to avoid any complications that might arise if they don’t properly set the bones in place. 

Oliver truly can’t find the energy to give a single fuck about it all but he just nods and shrugs indifferently when the surgeon tries asking him about his preferences. He doesn’t have any. Why does it matter? His lungs are shit. His brain is crap. Why not add on his face into the mix too? 

It’s mid afternoon a full day and a half after his surgery when the pitter patter of tiny feet heralds Bee’s arrival. Sure enough, she pushes his door open (without knocking - she _ never _knocks) and lets herself in, shooting him a confident little smirk as she waves paper and crayons before her delightedly.

“OLIVER!” She crows heartily as she trots over to him. “Time to tell more story! Doctor Schwartz says she fixed your head allll better. So now you gotta talk more ‘bout The Green Arrow! He finished fightin’ the Mir’kuru soldiers!” She’s a chatterbox as ever and Oliver doesn’t have the willpower or energy to match her today. He’s relieved to see her, because it means he hasn’t missed her discharge. But then he’s upset with himself for being happy. He _ should _want her to get discharged. That would mean she was improving. But instead, he’s glorying in her still being here, like the selfish prick he is.

Classic Queen. 

“Not today, Bee.” He grumbles under his breath, attempting to shift his weight in his bed so that he’s got his back to her. This works about as well as expected - which is to say, not at all. Bee climbs up anyway, still totally oblivious to his dark mood. 

“Yes today! The Green Arrow beat The Dark Archer and The Overwatch beat The Deathstroke. Who’s next?!”

“No one, Bee. My head hurts.” 

At this, she seems to pause and consider this possibility before dismissing it outright. 

“Nuh uh, Doctor Schwartz fixed it so your head won’t hurted no more! So now you can tell me more ‘bout The Green Arrow’s next adventure!!” 

“Bee! I said no!” 

He’s done it. She’s quiet and when he risks a look at her, he can see her lower lip is quivering as she holds back tears. Fuck. He certainly wasn’t trying to make her cry; he’s just in so much pain today and he’s so damn tired. He can hardly tell which way is up, let alone invent more story for her. And if he fucks up the story, boy will she be mad. But now he’s done one worse than mess up the story - he’s hurt her feelings. And here he’d been looking forward to seeing her.

“You’re grumpy!” Bee states loudly, annoyance and hurt peppered in her tone. “I’m not colorin’ with you today!” She fusses, sliding down off of the bed with a crisp little clatter.

“Bee, wait,” Oliver groans, trying to roll back over to face her. But there’s a quick little _ tap tap tap _and she’s already at the door to the room, wrenching it open with enraged gusto. 

And just like that, she’s gone. Oliver blinks and reclines back against the pillow, letting his mind wander. He was an ass, sure. But being around Bee is hard when he feels this way. She’s so young and hopeful and full of life. Meanwhile it’s as if he’s turning to petrified skin and bones with each passing day. It feels like he’s getting worse, not better. He’s basically damaged goods and he’d even venture to say he’s cursed. Which is ridiculous, admittedly, but he can’t help but worry that the dark storm cloud hovering over him might be contagious. And if Bee keeps hanging out with him, she could get infected by it just as easily. Better to push her away then and force her to keep her distance from him, right? 

After all, he’s Oliver fucking Queen. Avoiding emotional situations and keeping people at a distance are some of his strongest skills. But today, those skills have felt more like a curse than a blessing. He hates that he’s upset her and he hates that he’s too weak to track her down and apologize. He hadn’t wanted to tell the story but that didn’t mean he didn’t want her company. Now? He’s on his own until Bee forgives him or comes back. He’s not sure which will happen first (if at all). 

✦✦✦✦✦

Bee doesn’t return the rest of the day, or that night. In fact, it’s nearing noon the following day before anyone other than hospital staff shows up in Oliver’s room and he’s beginning to think he pushed her away a little too forcefully. Why did he have to be such an ass? Why couldn’t he just tell her something for the damn story? His spirits are sinking lower by the minute the longer he dwells on the whole interaction. But his concern over Bee is put on hold when a crisp knock at his door announces a visitor. 

“Come in,” he mumbles halfheartedly. Frankly, he’s already a little dispirited because Bee _ never _knocks, so whoever this is? They aren’t her. 

The hinges squeak as the door opens and Oliver’s left gaping as he looks at none other than his best friend. 

“Tommy?!” He’s rewarded with a wide, toothy smile and some of his friend’s trademark, witty banter. 

“I leave you alone for a few weeks so I can go chase some primo South American tail in Corto Maltese, and you go and sink your dad’s yacht and get yourself hospitalized why…? To teach me a lesson for having a life outside of you? This just in: planet Earth left reeling after scientists discover world does not actually revolve around Oliver Jonas Queen.” 

The two of them both laugh heartily and Oliver’s still so surprised, it’s all he can do to focus on the conversation. He’s so relieved to see Tommy. _ So relieved. _His best friend’s arrival has changed everything in just a few short seconds. He’s gone from the depths of despair to the heights of happiness. 

“Yeah, well you know me. If I go too long without getting into trouble, I’ll probably just drop dead from being attention starved.” 

“Now isn’t that the truth,” Tommy grins as he steps deeper into the room, going straight to Oliver’s bedside. Oliver forces himself to sit up, ignoring the rattle in his lungs and the pain as his whole body protests this movement. When the two friends are close enough, they share a warm hug and Oliver nearly starts crying in his friend’s embrace.

Tommy is the first and only person in his life who has given a damn enough to come visit him in person. The absence of his family and friends at a time like this has not been easy on Oliver and while he knew that, it’s not until precisely this moment that he comprehends just _ how _great a toll their absence has taken on him. This whole time, Oliver’s felt as though no one really gives a damn about him, that no one has noticed or cared that he’s gone. 

Tommy being here helps fight feeling unwanted or inadequate, or any of the host of other negative emotions that have been building and brewing this whole time. 

“It’s… really good to see you,” Oliver confesses, his eyes shining as he tries his best to swallow back the tears. Tommy will never let him live it down if he turns into a weepy mess. “Seriously, Tommy.” 

To his credit, Tommy handles the emotion of his friend’s confession well, nodding with the glimmer of a smile at the corner of his lips. He shifts his weight, a little uncomfortable, and then speaks with his hands shoved nervously in his pockets. 

“I should have come sooner. But by the time word reached Corto Maltese…” Tommy trails off, shaking his head. “Let’s just say that even when you have a tricked out mansion in a foreign paradise, sometimes there are issues getting the latest and greatest news. I came back as soon as I found out you’d survived.” 

“Hey man, you don’t owe me an explanation.” 

“The hell I don’t. You almost died and you’ve been in the hospital all this time without so much as a call or text from me.” 

“You’re here now,” Oliver reminds him and at this his friend brightens and nods, seemingly encouraged by this thought. 

“That’s true. I am. So what can I do? You need me to bring in my DVD collection? Do you want a popcorn machine in here? What about an inflatable plastic pool that we can fill with Jell-O and ask the nurses to wrestle in?” Tommy offers, a rogue grin stealing across his lips before he gives his friend a crooked smirk. “Think any of them would go for that? I saw a hot blonde one out there...” 

Oliver can’t help but chuckle, though doing so takes it out of him; he’s a wheezing, raspy mess but who gives a shit about his lungs? Tommy is here. Oliver can focus on little else, he’s just so happy to have his adoptive brother back. 

“If anyone could convince the hot blonde nurse to wrestle in Jell-O, it’d be you,” Oliver chortles. “But I do actually have a favor to ask of you,” Oliver admits, his eyes downcast as he ponders how best to broach this. It’s a big ask - both in what it will require of Tommy, and in what it means to Oliver. 

“Anything.” Tommy doesn’t even hesitate and for that, Oliver is so grateful. This is his best friend. His brother in all but blood. Tommy’s been there through every twist and turn since they were kids. If anyone knows Oliver and what makes him tick, it’s Tommy. 

“Tommy… my dad… _ my dad’s dead.” _It breaks something in him to say it out loud and it feels like he’s loosened the floodgates because his tears? They’re springing to the forefront now and there’s no stopping them. He buries his face in his hands and he feels Tommy’s hand on his shoulder, giving him a supportive squeeze. Oliver takes some time to give himself over to the grief and confusion and guilt. When at last his breathing is no longer stuttered or punctuated with tears, he removes his hands from his face and focuses back on his friend, who has been silent but unwavering through his entire breakdown, in true Tommy fashion.

“I know, Oliver. I know. And I’m so, _ so _sorry. Anything you need… just ask.” 

Oliver knows it’s not just some empty platitude either. Not coming from Tommy; Oliver knows that if anyone gets where he’s coming from right now, it’s Tommy. Tommy who lost a mother. Tommy who grew up in a home fractured by that loss. Oliver hopes to hell that Thea won’t grow up in a similarly broken, empty home. 

He’ll fight like hell to make sure Thea doesn’t experience what Tommy experienced in the wake of his mother’s death. This? Asking Tommy to look after Thea? That’s step one to ensuring that. 

“My mom is in some mental health facility that specializes in grief counseling. Thea...Tommy, she’s all alone. My sister has no family left out there. It’s just her. She’s twelve, for crying out loud and she’s on her own. She’s been staying with Raisa but-”

Oliver doesn’t get to finish his ask. Tommy interrupts him before he can get that far. 

“I’ll pick her up today. She can stay at Casa de Merlyn as long as she needs to and Raisa can come by whenever to check on her, if that helps. She won’t be alone, Ollie. I’ll look out for her.” 

A sense of peace steals over Oliver, the likes of which he hasn’t known in far too long. 

“Thank you, Tommy.” 

From there the visit lightens in tone; the two friends talk and for a while, it’s almost like old times. Oliver’s able to forget, for a brief moment in time, that he’s in a great deal of pain and stuck here in the hospital. He’s able to put aside the losses and the trauma and for a moment, a pinprick of light filters into the dark little hole he’s fallen down into. 

Tommy tells him about his time in Corto Maltese; he speaks of lounging by the pool, of mai tais and bikini clad women and it’s really like nothing has changed. You’d never know that Oliver has survived a harrowing, near death experience that’s called everything he knows into question. They discuss Tommy’s father and his latest threats and overbearing antics (apparently Malcolm wants Tommy to ‘grow up’ and ‘get serious’ about his future - an all too familiar refrain. Oliver can’t even begin to count how many times he heard similar rants). After a while though, there’s no avoiding the elephant in the room and they discuss Oliver’s injuries and his recovery. Oliver confides in Tommy about the pain and how difficult it has been to live with. He fills his best friend in on the surgery he’s already had and the surgeries that await him. And though he’s worried and stressed about those things, somehow giving voice to that and confessing to Tommy makes them less terrifying to contemplate. 

They talk about everything and nothing. Well, _ almost _everything. They avoid talk of the actual accident altogether, for which Oliver is thankful. He’s not sure he wants to talk about it anymore than he already has. Some things are better left unspoken. That nightmarish night… feels like one such example. 

Oliver works up the courage to ask Tommy about Laurel; the fact that she hasn’t come by the hospital to see him is telling in and of itself. And it’s not like he expects her to forgive him or anything - even if she could (which he doubts) he’s not sure he’d want her to. This accident? It’s changed everything, including him. He’s never been the guy Laurel wants him to be and after this? He’s not sure who or what he is but he’s always going to be the guy who cheated on her with her sister; and he’s always going to be the guy who got her sister killed and that… that’s not something anyone could or should be willing to set aside in a relationship. Tommy tells him Laurel’s been a mess but as she’s gotten some space and distance from the accident, her grief has transformed into rage. From the sounds of it, she’s not going to be coming to visit Oliver anytime soon. Somehow, this is freeing; he’s not ready for that conversation and if Laurel were anything less than mad as hell, he would think less of her. There’s no forgiving the things he’s done.

Eventually, Oliver tells Tommy about Bee; about how she’d been annoying as all hell at first but over time, she’s grown on him. His friend is understandably amazed that he’s tolerated the kid this long (because everyone knows, kids are not Oliver’s thing) but Tommy doesn’t harp on it; he seems to sense (wisely) that Oliver’s very protective of Bee and won’t take kindly to teasing involving her or the elaborate story he’s been concocting for her. 

They talk and talk, mindless of the passage of time. All too soon, visiting hours end and one of the nurses comes by and politely shoos Tommy out of Oliver’s room. The two friends clasp each other in a parting hug and Tommy takes the opportunity to whisper in Oliver’s ear. 

“Don’t waste another moment worrying over Thea; I promise you Oliver, I’ll take care of her. You just focus on getting better. I’ll take care of the rest.” Tommy starts to pull away from the hug but Oliver holds him fast.

“Thank you, Tommy.” 

“You’re my best friend, Oliver. You’re my family. And she’s practically my little sister; I’ll take care of her. You have my word.” 

And Tommy’s word? It might not mean a lot to everyone but to Oliver, it sure as shit does. 

It’s a brief exchange but Oliver feels lighter for the burden of worry that’s been lifted off of his shoulders. Tommy’s going to take care of Thea. His little sister is not going to be made to feel alone in the universe. And that? That’s no small weight to be free of. Already, he’d swear he’s breathing better but that might just be wishful thinking. 

The two wrap up and grudgingly, Oliver watches his best friend go, wishing he could walk out the doors of the hospital along with him. But he can’t. Not yet. He’s still not doing well enough for that. Not to mention, he has some apologizing to do to his favorite little insect invader. He just hopes that’s one bridge that he hasn’t burned. He’s not sure he could handle that. 

✦✦✦✦✦

Bee’s mad at him.

That, Oliver decides, is the only explanation for it. After having asked after Bee with one of the nurses, he knows she hasn’t been released. So that must mean she’s still upset about his refusal to tell her more of the story. Why else would she stay away for almost a full two days?! That’s unheard of. In Bee time, that’s basically _ two years_. The kid can’t go five minutes without interrupting him to ask questions or clarify a point in the story. How she’s gone nearly forty eight hours without coming to visit him is mind blowing.

And also? Terrifying. 

He’s completely panicking that he’s done irreparable harm to their relationship. And for reasons that escape him, Oliver knows that a permanent schism between Bee and him? That’ll destroy him. He’s got so little going for him right now. He can’t lose her too. 

In her absence, he’s not done so well himself. His breathing is still labored, he’s getting terrible sleep - and what little he gets is interrupted or plagued with nightmares of the blue and green colors of the ocean and the red of blood. He feels as if every pain receptor in his body is reading constant, low level pain in the background. It’s like white noise, only a million times more terrible. 

But feeling crappy or no, Oliver needs to apologize to Bee. The real question is, how does he even begin to do that? What’s a little pipsqueak like her going to accept? For a brief moment, he considers bribing her with cold hard cash until he remembers he’s dealing with a young child. Dollar bills are not terribly motivating. In fact, _ most _normal motivators probably wouldn’t work on Bee. Oliver is practically tearing his hair out trying to think of things that she likes when he realizes, he really doesn’t know her all that well. 

The one thing that he does know, beyond a shadow of doubt, is that she loves the story he’s been telling her of The Green Arrow. The other thing he knows? She loves to color. 

There’s not much he can do with that. But he can do enough. 

He flags down the one person who might just be inclined to help him - Bee’s favorite, the nice nurse - and she enthusiastically manages to secure paper and crayons for him, delighted to be doing something for Bee. He then sets to work on his idea. It takes a while - his apology must be perfect, after all - she must have no reason to refuse his attempts at atonement. Eventually, he sets down his crayons and surveys his handiwork with critical eyes. 

Objectively speaking? ...It’s terrible. There’s no escaping that much - at the end of the day, this is a drawing done by _ him_. Art is not something he ever has claimed to be good at. But when stacked against the other drawings he’s done for her, this one is actually… pretty nice?

There’s not a lot that can be done with limited artistic skills and crayons but honestly, he’s done a passably good job. Unlike his early, uncertain drawings, the lines on this one are sharper, more confident, and he’s really leaned into the character he’s depicting. 

He summons his co-conspirator - Miss Nice Nurse - and with great care, instructs her to give the drawing to Bee and to tell her that the drawing is his apology. He’s very sorry and when she’s ready, he’ll continue telling her the story of The Green Arrow. 

As soon as the drawing leaves his hands, Oliver’s a wreck; he frets that she won’t forgive him, that she won’t return, that she’ll crumple the drawing up and throw it in the trash. His mind plays a million ‘worst case’ scenarios in his head, each one uglier than the last. He is dimly aware of his monitors beginning to beep insistently as his heart rate rises and the pressure in his head begins to intensify. He’s right on the edge and he can feel it but there’s little he can do to stop himself from tumbling headfirst into the waiting, yawning abyss. 

Just then, the door to his room creaks open and a small face peeks out from between the door and its frame, her eyes sweeping the room cautiously before Bee commits to entering with a labored motion. And then, he can’t help himself, he’s just so relieved and so happy to see her. Before he even realizes what he’s doing, he sits up in his bed and calls out to her joyously.

_ “Bee!” _

Her head whips to face him and instead of her usual innocent, unbridled joy, there’s a guarded look about her that is like a knife through the heart because instinctively, _ Oliver knows _those walls? They’re up right now because of him scaring her off last time. And he hates it. 

With less than her usual enthusiasm, she crosses the room to his bedside. And instead of climbing up to sit with him as she ordinarily would, she stops next to him, both feet firmly planted on the ground. He can just see her bright little eyes peeking over the mattress, her head bobbing before his eyes like a buoy on the water. He notices with a start that her head is no longer bandaged - instead, he can see an angry line of red across her forehead that clearly has been the cause for the bandage. The skin around it is puckered and pink and definitely in some stage of healing but nevertheless, the wound is grisly to see up close and more than a little alarming. His eyes are trained on it right up until a kiddie throat clearing catches his attention and his eyes drop from her forehead to meet her eyeline.

She brandishes a familiar drawing before her and Oliver almost smiles to see her holding it. So Miss Nice Nurse came through - Bee _ did _get his apology coloring. Good. 

“Whatsa ‘ssassin?!” 

It comes out in a wobbly little trill and he can tell she’s trying to be matter of fact but she can’t disguise the genuine curiosity gleaming in her eyes as she looks up at him expectantly. 

“An assassin is a person who specializes in MURDERING people. But in The Green Arrow’s story? Assassins are the people that make up the group of bad guys threatening the city next,” he explains in a throaty whisper, delighted that she’s here and actually hearing him out. “It’s a secret organization of assassins known as The League,” Oliver elaborates, his voice falling into the polished tone he uses for his storytelling with her out of habit. 

“A secret league of ‘ssassins?!” Bee’s little mouth has fallen open in surprise and in that moment, Oliver knows he’s got her interest again. He nods, his eyes wide as he stares back at her, unblinking.

“And the leader of the assassins? They call him THE DEMON’S HEAD.” Oliver watches her eyes flare open a little wider and unthinkingly, Bee leans in closer to him, totally enraptured. 

“The Demon’s Head?!” She repeats nervously and he nods again solemnly. 

“He is extremely powerful. He has killed so many people and survived so many fights. Even when he is badly wounded, he has a secret pool of healing waters that keep him alive, even if he is about to die. And he can fight better than anyone you’ve ever seen.” 

“Not better than The Green Arrow!” Bee protests and Oliver chuckles.

“Oh yes. Better than The Green Arrow, even,” he informs her and she gasps in horror and surprise. “He is so good that he can kill a man in seconds, just as easy as _ that,” _Oliver snaps his fingers for emphasis and Bee jumps in surprise and fear, though she doesn’t draw away. Instead, she scoots closer and contemplates the space beside him on the bed. He sees the look and right away, he moves over to make room for her. 

“If you want to hear more, I’d be happy to tell you about it. You could sit here and color with me for a while, if you like.” 

She ponders this offer in silence, staring from Oliver to the drawing in her hands and back again before her eyes land heavily on her normal spot beside him. He can see the very moment she makes up her mind. Her little body seems to relax and in a heartbeat, she’s scrambling very slowly up beside him. She’s moving slower than usual, he notes, and he can’t help but wonder why.

He really ought to make a point out of getting to know more about Bee and what all she’s been through. What little he knows, he’s picked up from context clues or by asking the nurses but Bee herself is an untapped source of information just waiting to be accessed. He fully intends to learn more now that she’s back and he is (he thinks) forgiven. 

“How many ‘ssassins is there?” 

“Lots. Too many to count. They’re like ants in an anthill. Always moving, everywhere all at once. They travel all over the world to kill the people The Demon’s Head tells them to.” 

If Bee’s eyes were any wider, they’d bug right out of her head. She glances at the drawing in her hands, then flattens it out before her and points at the figure drawn there.

“And this The Demon’s Head?” Bee queries and Oliver confirms this with a nod as she sucks in a breath through her mouth, the air whistling through her teeth. Dutifully, she raises her casted arm and to his amazement, she withdraws a black crayon from inside of it, wedged between cast and skin in true Bee fashion. As he watches, she plunks her cast down atop the paper to steady it and then she begins to scribble with her good hand. Numerous tiny, stick figure people bloom to life upon the page, all of them uniformly nondescript.

“Thems the ‘ssassins,” Bee explains breezily as she continues surrounding Oliver’s drawing of The Demon’s Head with an army of small assassins. When she finishes, she flashes him a proud smile and he surveys her work seriously before he nods approvingly, which only makes her smile grow. 

Satisfied with her contributions to the latest villain in The Green Arrow’s verbal anthology, she burrows in beside him. And when she does, Oliver can’t help the lingering smile at the corner of his lips. With a full heart, he launches into the story of their beloved hero once again.

“But before we talk about The League of Assassins or The Demon’s Head, we have to go back. Now, you remember when we last saw The Green Arrow, he had just beaten The Deathstroke-”

“THE OVERWATCH beat The Deathstroke!” Bee corrects him and Oliver chuckles; she’s at least half right, by his estimate. 

“Okay, okay. The Green Arrow and The Overwatch beat The Deathstroke _ together,” _he allows, arching a questioning brow Bee’s way. She considers this for a moment and then nods, giving this version of the story her blessing. Oliver bites his lip to hold back a smile and then continues. 

“Now, after The Deathstroke and his soldiers were defeated, the city was safe for a time. The Green Arrow and his team hunted down bad guys night after night. But something had changed. After everything with The Deathstroke, The Green Arrow knew that The Overwatch was more than just his teammate and his friend. He knew he was falling in love with her-”

Bee’s sharp gasp of surprise cuts him off but Oliver doesn’t mind. A quick look down at her reveals that she’s actually got both hands pressed to her face in surprise and her little mouth is quirked into a perfectly round ‘o’. 

“He loves her?!”

“He does.” 

“I KNEW IT!” Bee shouts gleefully, suddenly animated in the face of this news. She grows suddenly still though as she considers something and she turns slowly to stare up at him. “Is he gonna kiss her?” 

“Maybe. You have to be quiet and listen to the story if you want to find out.” 

Her little mouth closes hastily and she clams up so fast it would give him whiplash if he wasn’t suffering from that already. Amused, Oliver swallows and tries to resume the story where he left off. 

“The Green Arrow knew that he cared about The Overwatch. A lot. But he knew that the life he led was dangerous. And he didn’t want her to get hurt. But The Spartan reminded him that he deserved to be happy and so The Green Arrow faced his biggest challenge yet-”

“What? What is it?!” Bee gasps, completely invested in the blossoming romance he’s decided to throw into the story for shits and giggles. 

“The Green Arrow asked The Overwatch to go to dinner.” 

Another gasp. And then:

“Like a _ date?!” _Bee whispers in disbelief. Oliver nods solemnly.

“Definitely like a date,” he confirms, delighting in the way Bee’s eyes go round in surprise and her mouth splits into the widest grin possible. She’s plainly delighted by this turn of events but she is in no way done with her questions.

“What’re they gonna eat?” 

The question is so unexpected, Oliver would swear a record screech sound has played in his head as he tries to wrap his mind around her words. What are they going to eat on their date? Uhh…

“Sushi?” 

“Blech!” Bee sticks out her tongue and fake gags and Oliver shakes his head, laughing at her over the top antics. 

“Okay, fine no sushi. What are they going to eat then, missy?” 

“S’ghetti!” Bee crows excitedly, her cast thumping against the railing of the bed as she pushes herself into a sitting position and pulls up a fresh piece of paper from Oliver’s little stack and begins to draw enthusiastically. In short order there’s a very terribly rendered drawing of a bowl of “s’ghetti” according to Bee. And Oliver just rolls with it because why the hell not? Besides, everybody loves Italian. Why wouldn’t the characters in the story love it too? 

Content with her contributions to the story illustrating, Bee sits back and snuggles against him, patting his side when she’s comfy cozy once again.

“Okay, you keep going now.” 

With a smile, Oliver resumes where he left off, telling of The Green Arrow and The Overwatch’s (doomed) date. Bee’s righteous anger at the outcome is softened when she finds out that The Green Arrow and The Overwatch kiss but even when Oliver repeatedly tells her that the two are not together and that they are just teammates, the kid insists that eventually, they’ll find their way back to each other. And hell if that doesn’t sound like a nice love story to back up all the action he’s got going on in this tale. Bee leans against him comfortably, interjecting freely as she always does and Oliver feels that same sense of peace that he felt with Tommy yesterday return to him now. 

Bee has found her hive once again. And he couldn’t be happier.


	6. Chapter 6

Oliver’s joy at Bee’s return is dimmed only by his own ever deteriorating health. While Bee’s presence definitely boosts his mood (which certainly seems to be a boon to his physical health as well), it’s not enough to counter everything he’s going through at the moment. His lungs are continuing to struggle and despite the doctors’ efforts, his breathing seems to be getting worse. 

In an attempt to determine the cause of his discomfort and treat it, the doctors begin to treat him like a human pincushion. He feels as though he has been poked and prodded more times than should be humanly possible. His arms are littered in bruises from needle pokes and with each fresh jab, Oliver feels himself sinking ever lower into the quagmire of his dark thoughts. 

He’s not getting better. He’s getting worse. Which would be one thing in and of itself. But then he learns that the reason Bee hasn’t been released is because she had a relapse of her own. It’s not until later that afternoon, after Bee has gone back to her own room to be put back on oxygen and to receive some of her meds, that he finds out the details from one of the nurses. 

The details make him want to dive out of his hospital room window in shame. 

Bee’s relapse? It occurred just after he dismissed her without a story and upset her. That doesn’t exactly strike Oliver as a coincidence. Instantly, he’s drowning in guilt because his rebuke must obviously have been what set off the chain of events leading to her regression. Clearly his negative karmic balance is no longer just impacting him - now it's impacting those around him and Bee has gotten caught in the crossfire. She’d really and truly be better off away from him.

This thought alone - that Oliver is a danger to Bee and she’d be better getting away from him - sends him spiraling into new, darker levels of self loathing and guilt.

The more he dwells on it, the worse he feels. The pressure seems to be building and crushing down on him but this time, the pressure? It’s not just in his head. In fact, it feels more heavily concentrated on his chest, as if there’s a thousand pound weight compressing his lungs and making breathing damn near impossible. 

Sleeplessness is a forgone conclusion; he tosses and turns but rest and recuperation escape him entirely. 

By morning, he feels awful. His breathing sounds like a death rattle and he doesn’t even have the energy to care. When the interns and Doctor Schwartz round on him, he doesn’t even have the energy to argue when he finds out that his plastic surgery (which was apparently scheduled for today) has been canceled owing to his worsening condition. 

Of course it’s been canceled. Why not? Who cares if he ends up looking like a crappy Mister Potato Head that never got a proper face put on it? What’s it to the doctors if he goes from being male model levels of devastatingly handsome to ‘put a paper bag on his head to hide his face in public’ levels of ugly?! Fuck it all! What’s it matter? So he’ll look like a crappy Picasso self portrait. He’ll just have to adjust to his new reality of being a piece of human roadkill.

Oliver’s pity party is still going strong later in the day when Doctor Schwartz returns with his test results. He’s being a black hole of negativity, he knows. And his failure to be positive will, he’s certain, earn him stern rebuke from the likes of Doctor Schwartz. He can practically picture the pep talk he’s about to receive. 

So he’s entirely surprised when a pep talk isn’t on the menu. Instead, a health status update is. And it’s not exactly great. 

“Okay Oliver,” the doc begins as she leans against the foot of his bed, reviewing the chart in her hands. For a moment, her teeth saw at her lower lip and her eyes skim across the page before lifting to look him in the eyes. 

“So, I know you’ve been having a hard time. Physically and otherwise too. But I wanted to tell you we got some of your test results back and it looks as if you’ve got a respiratory infection. Specifically? You’ve got bacterial pneumonia. That’s why you’re having such a hard time breathing and that’s why your lungs have been overworking themselves lately,” she goes through it all with Oliver in careful, considerate fashion. Doctor Schwartz is many things but her no nonsense honesty is perhaps one of her most admirable traits in his eyes. Hard though it can sometimes be to hear, the information he receives from her is always reliable and straightforward. 

She’s a no bullshit kinda gal. He likes that.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Oliver. This is going to make things hard on you and you can expect some hellish days as you get over this. Your lungs are weak and pneumonia right now is going to take a toll on you. We’re going to monitor you very closely but I’m confident you’ll recover from this - in time. And when you do, we’ll reschedule your facial surgery with the plastic surgeon.” 

She’s trying to be hopeful. Oliver doesn’t have the energy left in him for hope though.

He learns that he’s going to get put on a new course of meds that may require some tinkering and a little lag for adjustment time; if they work, his breathing should begin to improve and return to normal. The chest pain, the headaches, the fever, the fatigue? All of those should resolve as well. If that doesn’t happen? They’ll take him in for another round of scans and try to see what images they can get of his chest to help them identify the cause of his pain, if pneumonia isn’t the sole offender. And if the culprit isn’t a simple respiratory infection? 

Well… according to the doctor, they’ll cross that bridge when they come to it. 

He can tell Doctor Schwartz is doing her best to end this on a positive note - his symptoms could all resolve! The meds could clear this up inside of a few weeks! But all Oliver can hear or focus on is that he’s hit another snag in his recovery and there’s yet another obstacle to overcome on this long, _ long _ road. And he just… _ Can’t. _This is too much.

Making matters worse, there’s been no word from or about his mother - not one word, not even a goddamn syllable. How messed up is that? Can’t the center she’s at give him an update? A progress report? _ Something? _Even Thea hasn’t called again and he’s more than a little upset about it. He doesn’t even have a cellphone of his own to text her from. How’s he supposed to be a good big brother if she doesn’t call him to give him the chance? And Tommy - where’s he been? One visit and that’s all he gets? 

Does he matter at all? Do any of them love him at all? 

Distantly, he knows he’s overreacting. He’s being overly sensitive and emotional. But damn it, _ he almost died. _ And none of the people who _ should _care about that seem to actually give a fuck. Talk about a bitter pill to swallow; the idea that he’s easily forgotten and wouldn’t be missed at all if absent? That doesn’t exactly leave him feeling warm or fuzzy inside. 

And he’s in no small amount of pain - his ribcage aches from a litany of broken ribs. Each breath is an agonizing exercise in torment now thanks to the pneumonia and pulmonary contusions. His head is still healing from the surgery on his skull fracture. And his body as a whole is still in a state of sore disrepair from the whiplash he received thanks to being flung through the air upon the yacht just before it sank. Pain, pain, _ pain_, everywhere he looks.

And so it goes; Oliver’s spiral worsens with each passing second and no one is there to witness it and stop it before it gets out of control. It’s too late now - he’s in full blown meltdown territory but you’d never know it just by looking at him. 

The nursing staff sets him up with supportive care in the form of additional IV fluids and a nasal cannula for oxygen. It’s like nothing’s changed from the moment he woke up post-accident to now. He’s right back at square fucking one. 

By the time Bee shows up around lunchtime the day of Oliver’s pneumonia diagnosis, he’s reached hitherto unheard of, dangerous new depths within his inner darkness and he’s only narrowly holding it together. 

Bee’s arrival though, is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. The moment she comes into his room, the wheels begin to fall off entirely. 

Sure, her head bandage has come off this week. But she’s also experienced a relapse - her breathing took a serious hit (not unlike his own) and they were able to get ahead of it before hers became full blown pneumonia, but she still fought off an upper respiratory infection. Where could she have picked up such a thing if not from him?! 

He’s a plague. That’s all he is. Everything he interacts with is worse off for having been touched by him. He’s got to keep Bee safe from his destructive touch. But there’s only one way to do that. And he’s going to hate himself for it. 

“More story time today?!” She pipes up as she comes sliding into his room, the hummed strains of her personal theme music just audible as she closes the door behind her. 

“Yeah, sure Bee. I’ve got more of The Green Arrow’s story to tell you,” he confirms and in answer, Bee offers him his favorite smile of hers - the one that crinkles her nose and makes her eyes sparkle and her cheeks go round with joy. 

“YAY!” Without delay, she comes hustling over to his bed and climbs up alongside him with practiced ease. She’s got her standard crayons and paper at the ready and before he can say or do anything, she begins to diligently remove her crayons from her smelly ol’ arm cast. He watches this with a pang, aware that this is the last time he’ll get to enjoy this small comfort. 

“Are you ready, Bee?”

“Mhmm,” she hums back, already hard at work scribbling with her left hand. 

“Do you remember where we left our vigilante?” 

“Hims fought The Demon’s Head. And he got STABBED and fell off the cliff!” Bee reminds Oliver in a voice still pinched with distress. “But hims lived! The K’tana saved him!” The relief as she says this is palpable and is probably the reason behind Bee’s drawing of The Katana character having a large heart in the background and the words ‘Thank you!’ written in nearly unintelligible scrawl at the bottom of the page. If Bee didn’t love The Green Arrow, The Spartan, and The Overwatch so much, The Katana would have usurped them for the simple fact that she saved the titular character from certain death. 

Bee loves The Katana for that. And Oliver loves Bee for loving The Katana. 

“Very good. That’s right. Are you ready for the next part of the story?”

Bee nods, still eagerly scribbling away at the paper on top of the stack. Oliver stares at it for a while and comes to discern that Bee has drawn the cliff face where The Green Arrow fought against The Demon’s Head (and lost). At the time she’d heard the tale, she’d been too upset to draw (and she had nearly stormed out of Oliver’s room in rage). But now that she knows that her beloved vigilante hero has lived, she’s sketching the scene of his defeat. 

Oliver takes a steadying breath and for the tiniest split second, his resolve wavers selfishly. He doesn’t want to be in this hospital without Bee. 

_ If you keep her around you, trouble is going to find her_, the nagging voice in his head menaces and as easily as that, Oliver’s doubt is put to rest. He’s got to do whatever it takes to protect Bee - even if that means removing himself from her orbit. 

“For a while, Team Arrow works together to protect the city and things seem to be mostly okay. But one day, The Demon’s Head appears in The Green Arrow’s home. And he does something the hooded vigilante was not prepared for,” Oliver explains and Bee’s hand stills, the crayon slipping from her fingers as her eyes lift to Oliver’s face in concern.

“What’s he do?!” Bee whispers in a worried undertone. Oliver swallows nervously; there’s no backing out once he starts this. 

“The Demon’s Head takes his knife and he stabs The Speedy.”

Bee’s little hand latches onto his wrist and he starts with surprise when her face is suddenly mere centimeters from his, her eyes wide and already brimming with tears.

“No. No more stabbing,” she pleads with him but Oliver only shakes his head, refusing to give in despite the desperation in her voice. 

“He stabs The Speedy,” Oliver repeats, ignoring the fractures in his heart as a quiet sob wrenches free from Bee even as she places one hand on either side of his face. She shakes her head in front of him, refusing to accept this new development.

“No! No no no!” 

“Yes. He stabs her and leaves her for dead. When The Green Arrow finds her, she’s barely alive,” Oliver continues over Bee’s whimpered protests. “He brings her to the hospital but they tell him there is nothing they can do; The Speedy will die.” 

Bee cries out, distraught, and she sinks back down beside him, her hands falling away from his face. The defeated expression she wears is enough to shatter him inside. 

“The Green Arrow has no choice; he takes The Speedy across the world to the lair of The Demon’s Head,” Oliver goes on, barreling forward. If he stops, he won’t have the stones to start again. “And there, he is able to heal her with the help of the very man who stabbed her. But that help comes at a price. The Green Arrow must leave his city, his family, and his friends to join the evil League of Assassins. Permanently.” 

“NO! He can’t do that, thems the bad guys!”

“He can do that. And he does. The Green Arrow becomes one of them. And he leaves his team behind.” 

“He can’t do that!” 

“He does.”

“But-”

“And when Team Arrow is back in the city, they find out that The Green Arrow isn’t the same person they used to know. The man they knew is gone. He has become a villain now - he is one of the League of Assassins.” 

“No! The ‘ssassins are the bad guys!” 

“The Green Arrow IS a bad guy now.” 

“Stop it!” Bee shouts suddenly, sitting bolt upright, her entire, little body atremble. “You’re ruining all of the story! That’s not how it’s s’posed to go!” 

“Yes, it is, Bee. And when Team Arrow tries to go back and save The Green Arrow, he betrays them. He helps the League of Assassins capture the team. Team Arrow is forced to watch their friend become a villain-”

“NO! HE’S NOT A BAD GUY!” 

“Yes, he IS!” Oliver retorts sharply, not backing down. “He even marries The Daughter of the Demon.” 

“NO! HE LOVES THE OVERWATCH! He can’t marry anybody else!” 

“Well, he does.” 

“THIS IS WRONG. YOU’RE TELLING IT WRONG!” Bee shouts, balling her tiny little hands into fists. Her cheeks are bright red and as he watches, tears trace down her face and spill onto the sheets of the hospital bed. 

“And then, The Demon’s Head tells The Green Arrow to kill Team Arrow,” Oliver announces and he watches as Bee freezes in abject horror, though her tears continue to flow freely. “And The Green Arrow does. He poisons the air in the dungeon cell where the team is being kept. And he walks away from them as they call out to him. The Overwatch and The Spartan die in each others arms, killed by their friend. And once they’re dead, The Green Arrow leaves to go and attack the city he used to protect with the virus that will destroy everyone and everything living there.”

“YOU STOP IT!” Bee is in a rage now and she launches herself up onto her feet beside him on the bed. She doesn’t precisely tower over him but the menacing air about her certainly aims to intimidate him into undoing the horrors he’s unleashed on their make believe world. “This is all wrong, all of it! No more, you’re telling it all wrong. You gotta take it back! None of that’s right, that’s not what a hero would do!” 

“The Green Arrow isn’t a hero, Bee.” 

“But you said he was gonna be!” 

“I lied.” 

All of the righteous anger seems to leak out of her and she wilts before him until she’s nothing more than a deflated, wounded little creature. Wordlessly, she sinks back down onto the bed and collects her crayons and papers. She says nothing to him but he can still hear the soft gasps and hiccups as she tries to stifle her crying. As she slides off the bed, her parting words obliterate whatever remains of Oliver’s broken heart.

“I don’t wanna hear the story anymore. You lied. You’re not my friend no more.” 

With that she shuffles out of the room. The last he sees of her, Bee’s wiping tears away from her eyes and sniffing loudly as she slips out the door without so much as a backwards glance. 

✦✦✦✦✦

His nightmares intensify that night. Perhaps it is the burden of guilt he feels so acutely as he falls asleep. Or perhaps it is the self hatred he directs inward for having hurt Bee so, even if it was done to protect her from him. Whatever the cause, Oliver’s dreams are vivid flashes of color and indistinct jumbles with overwhelming emotional undertones. 

A multitude of blue hues - vibrant and clear - haunt his resting moments and invade his waking ones later. He awakes with a racing heart, drenched in sweat, feeling panicked and desperate. He clings to the railing of his bed, holding back the sobs that threaten to overwhelm him. He can’t give in - for one, sobbing will be hell on his ribs and his lungs. For another? 

He’s afraid that if he opens the floodgates, he’ll never stop. He hates himself for pushing Bee away, even if he’s only done it to protect her. The memory of the brokenness in her eyes as she left him? He can’t shake it. 

She’s better off away from him. But he’s definitely worse off without her. 

Morning seems to delay itself for far longer than should be possible; Oliver is desperate for the doctors to round on him so he can ask Doctor Schwartz to prescribe something to knock him out into a dreamless sleep. But like a watched pot never boils, morning seems to drag its feet in arriving and instead allows the pitchy shadows of night to linger uncontested. 

What could be taking them so long? They know the drill by now; each patient shouldn’t require more a than a few minutes at most. But when they finally arrive in his room, it’s much later than usual and there’s a stiffness in the air that’s new and not kind. Oliver feels his hair stand on end; something is wrong. He just doesn’t know _ what. _

He tunes out even as the doctors review his own recuperation. Instead, Oliver focuses on the one individual in this wretched place who’ll give it to him straight. Doctor Schwartz looks haggard; her features are more pinched than normal, her eyes seem heavy with fatigue and there’s the faintest ghost of bags just forming beneath her eyes. 

When the interns begin to file out single file, Doctor Schwartz lingers behind and he realizes she’s going to tell him something. Oliver braces himself for the news to come. And it’s a good thing too because the update Doctor Schwartz has for him? It destroys him in one fell swoop.

“Oliver, there’s something I need to talk to you about,” begins his own personal lab coat-wearing-hospital-Yoda. “It’s about Bee. Something… something’s happened.” 

The world falls away from him in that moment and Oliver is aware of the drumming of his own heart, loud and frantic within his chest. He’s aware of the way his body draws in a surprised breath and holds it, his lungs clenching the precious supply of oxygen as long seconds tick by. Worry gnaws at him doggedly and it’s all he can do to actually listen to the words Doctor Schwartz says next. 

“I’m afraid that last night… Bee crashed, Oliver. Her vitals plummeted and we had no choice but to rush her in for emergency exploratory surgery. Fortunately, I was here and a surgical suite was open, so we got her in quickly. As it turned out, she had internal injuries that none of us knew about. It… well Oliver, it was a rough surgery on her. Her lungs were still weak from the injuries she suffered in the car accident she was in and emergency surgery - as you well know - isn’t easy on weakened respiratory systems.” 

Oliver is numb. He can’t feel a damn thing beyond the all consuming horror of this news. _ Bee crashed. _ The words reverberate through his skull, heavy with guilt and concern. He can’t think. He can’t breathe. _ Bee crashed. _ Oliver swallows thickly several times, unable to unblock the knot in his throat as he nods minutely, too horror struck to do anything more substantial. _ Bee crashed. _

“We found out, Bee had what we call a hematoma on her liver. Essentially, it’s what results when blood ends up outside of the blood vessels and forms a clot. From the time they’re formed, it can sometimes take days or weeks before the hematoma resolves - or in some cases, ruptures. And in Bee’s case… Well, I’m afraid hers ruptured last night. She was bleeding into her abdomen and she lost a great deal of blood. It was necessary to begin immediate transfusions if we wanted to stand any chance at saving her.” 

Oliver feels the entire world bottom out from under him. This can’t be happening. He had pushed her away to avoid exactly this sort of nightmare scenario. He’d been _ horrible _to her because keeping her away from him had seemed the best way to ensure her safety. And now… Now he’s to understand that within hours of him being a right prick, Bee collapsed and required emergency surgery? How can that be? Why is the universe going after an innocent child?!

“I-Is she… _ Please _tell me she’s alive?”

He’s so utterly desolate and broken, he does nothing to hide his tears from view. Nor does he try to act like this hasn’t shaken him. Quite the contrary. Oliver has never felt more rattled or less sure of anything in his life. 

“The next twenty four hours will be important; right now she’s in ‘serious’ condition and there’s a possibility she could turn critical again very quickly. It’s really hard to say whether her prognosis is good or not. We’re going to have to monitor her very intensively. But yes, Oliver. She’s alive.” 

A half relieved, half sobbing sound springs from his lips before he can stop himself and then before he knows it, he’s breaking down in earnest. The mental image of that sweet, kind hearted little child lying upon a cold surgical table, being sliced into and ripped apart only to be pieced back together? That image kills him. She’s too tiny for such things. She’s so small. She should be drawing happily in her room, not being rushed up to the surgical floor by the doctors.

“C-Can I see her?” 

This question takes the doctor by surprise and she considers this for a moment before she shakes her head.

“No, Oliver. I don’t think that’s a good idea just yet. Bee is still extremely fragile and her visitors are being limited to family only. She was very agitated just before she crashed. Apparently she was crying and her vitals were off the charts. The nurse wasn’t sure what had happened but all anyone managed to get out of Bee was that something was ‘ruined’... Care to fill me in on what that might be?” 

At this, Oliver winces outwardly, well aware that this is not a question he can duck out of or avoid if he wants any shot of seeing Bee down the line. And God help him, he wants to see her. He wants to see her so badly, it’s taking all his self control not to walk out of this room and across the hall to whatever room Bee’s in. With a pang, he realizes he doesn’t know - he’s never been to see her in her room, it’s always been _ her _ coming over to _ his. _God he’s been a selfish ass, hasn’t he? 

“I didn’t want to keep putting her at risk. So yesterday… Yesterday I stepped in it. On purpose, but still… It upset her. Bee, that is.” He’s explaining this lamely but now that he’s saying it out loud, his entire plan sounds stupid in the extreme. How had he ever thought it would work? And now - unsurprisingly - it has gone and had the opposite of the intended effect! 

“Hold on, I’m sorry. Time out. At risk? What was Bee at risk of over here? Other than hearing wildly age inappropriate stories featuring death and violence and murder?” The doctor remarks, staring him down shrewdly. 

“Oh come on Doc, don’t play stupid. We both know that Bee had an upper respiratory infection. Where do you think she got that from? _ Me. _Mister pneumonia. I’m a walking disaster and the people nearest to me always end up the worse off for having known me.” 

He’s spiraling back towards dangerous new depths of personal pity party. But Doctor Schwartz isn’t having it and before he can get too far gone, she intervenes with some cold hard facts.

“Good heavens,” she mutters under her breath, shaking her head before she passes one hand over her face wearily. With a deep inhale, she seems to steady and center herself and then she turns to stare Oliver down most intensely. 

“Oliver, listen to me and you listen good. Bee had a URI. Those are common in hospitals and places where people with compromised immune systems are packed together in close quarters. You had bacterial pneumonia. Those… are not the same things. You didn’t give Bee anything. And even assuming that you could - do you really think I would have let her keep coming in here? For crying out loud, Oliver, give me a _ little _credit. I’m in the business of keeping people alive, not getting them sick.” 

Oh. Shit. He hadn’t even considered it. But put that way… Yeah. His reasoning certainly seems pretty dumb. The slightest bit of outside scrutiny and he’s watching his rationale crumble like a cheap suit. Fuck. 

“I just wanted to keep her safe. And keeping her away from me seemed like my best bet at accomplishing that. Everyone around me is worse off for it. I didn’t…. I didn’t want Bee to be another casualty of proximity to Oliver ‘Cursed’ Queen,” he mutters anxiously and for a moment, the doctor seems to soften.

“You… You think that Bee is worse off for being around you?!”

“Everyone is. Just look at the casualty list surrounding me - my mom, my dad, my friend Sara. My sister has suffered because of me. The reasons why just keep growing. I wanted to spare Bee that. She deserves better than to be another victim.” 

“Did you smash your skull again and give yourself another fracture?” The doctor questions him suddenly and Oliver gapes at her in surprise but she doesn’t slow down or give him the chance to respond, she just plows straight ahead. “Oliver, Bee’s health was a mess when she first came in. There was a time when we didn’t know if she would even live. Then we didn’t know if she would ever have a normal life. But ever since you two started spending time together, Bee’s health has been improving and - up until last night - she’s been incredibly stable.” 

“R-Really?” 

She nods at him, her arms crossing before her as she surveys him with the barest note of exasperation about her. 

“So next time, before you take it upon yourself to decide what’s best for a patient other than you? _ Don’t. _ You didn’t do yourself or Bee any favors by pushing her away. But you know what actually _ did _ help Bee - _ and _you? You telling her that little story of yours. Ever since you let her start coming in her, you’ve both been doing better than I could have hoped. And I know you’ve hit some major snags in your recovery. But bad things are going to happen, no matter what any of us say or do. What matters is how we handle those problems when they come our way. And for the record? You’ve been handling those things a hell of a lot better with Bee around to support you.” 

Even though it’s just him and Doctor Schwartz, Oliver feels like a child that’s just received a well deserved but stern lecture in front of the entire class. She really called him out. And honestly? He deserved it. He can see that now. 

“So if I were you? I’d think long and hard about reconsidering your position on pushing Bee away from you. Because together? You two are a force to be reckoned with. But apart? You both are already struggling.”

With that, the good doctor turns and begins to leave the room, only to be drawn up short by Oliver just as she reaches the door.

“Doctor Schwartz!?”

She pauses and half turns to look back at him with a curious expression. 

“Yes?”

“Thank you… For telling me what I needed to hear. And… for not writing me off as a lost cause. I know I’ve been an ass and made everyone’s lives harder with the stunt I pulled and… I’m really sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize to me, Oliver. Apologize to Bee. And then make it up to all of us by forgiving yourself and getting better. Alright?” 

“I’ll do my best.” At this, he receives raised brows and a look that says he hasn’t quite said that right. Huffing a sigh, he tries again. “I mean I will. I’ll do it.” 

“Much better.” The doctor flashes him a wink and then she’s out the door and gone, leaving him to mull over everything that she’s told him. 


	7. Chapter 7

He wants so badly to go to Bee’s bedside, the way she’s done for him so many times over these last weeks. But Doctor Schwartz had said no and he’s not inclined to push his luck. He knows that he messed up now. And badly. And he feels no small amount of guilt and blame for Bee having crashed. Perhaps, if she hadn’t been so worked up over him being so truly awful to her, then maybe she wouldn’t have crashed. 

For a brief span, Oliver spirals again, faster and farther afield into his inner darkness, his demons howling in his ears. The guilt is maddening, the blame too much to bare. What’s he going to do? How can he ever look himself in the mirror - let alone look Bee in the eyes? How can he apologize for going so horribly astray with her? 

He’s straying perilously close to some extremely unhealthy thoughts about how to cope with his feelings when he has a rare moment of self awareness. 

These thoughts aren’t going to help him. And they’re certainly not going to help Bee. And helping her? That’s the most important thing - perhaps the _ only _important thing - left to him. There’s not a lot he can do to work towards that right now. Really, all he can do is focus on his own healing so that when she’s able to receive visitors, he’ll be in a better place to apologize to her so he can mend what he tore asunder. 

Easier said than done. But for Bee? He’ll do it. He’s got to. What’s the alternative? Letting her down? No. He’s done enough of that. No more. 

He’s still elbow deep in his own thoughts, doing his best to be mature and logical and self aware as he processes his own emotions when an unfamiliar (and yet simultaneously familiar) sound cuts through the quiet of the hospital room. His bedside phone gives off a shrill, clamorous ring that he’s heard only once before. It makes him jump in alarm but as soon as he’s recovered, he’s clambering to grab the receiver off the hook. 

“H-Hello?” 

He’s not sure who or what to expect on the other end. But the voice that greets him is a welcome one.

“Hey Ollie,” Thea warbles, her voice still rough and off sounding.

“Speedy? Is that you?!”

“Sure is. I know, hard to tell since I still sound like a frog.” 

It’s not funny, really. But given everything, Oliver finds himself laughing. And what’s more? It feels _ good _to just let himself laugh. 

“It’s really good to hear your voice, Speedy. Frog sound and all.”

“How are you? Tommy said he came to see you. He said you looked like garbage.” 

“Always so sweet, that Tommy Merlyn.” 

“Hey, he’s _ your _best friend.” 

“This is true. I should put up a job posting for a new one to replace him.”

At this she laughs and he finds himself doing the same. God, he misses his little sister. When they’ve both quieted, he grows a little more serious, his concern overruling everything else. 

“How is Tommy? Did he come to get you?” 

“Yeah, yeah he did. He’s good. It’s okay, being with him. If I can’t be with you, I guess he’s the next best thing.” 

It warms his heart that she still would choose him first and he can’t hold back the smile her words elicit. 

“I’m glad, Speedy. I just wanted to make sure you were taken care of while I’m stuck in here.” 

“Yeah, I’m good. You don’t have to worry about me, Ollie. Just worry about you. How are you? Are you feeling better?” 

Well that depends on the day, honestly. But he’s not about to worry her with his pendulum like health swings. 

“Yeah, yeah I totally am. Shouldn’t be much longer now. Got my skull all fixed up. And they’re giving me some meds that’ll help my lungs. Pretty soon I should be getting out of here and when I do, I’ll be at Tommy’s door in a second to pick you up.”

There’s a lull of quiet between them and when she speaks again, her voice is soft but with the faintest whiff of accusation.

“Are you lying to me, Ollie?” 

It’s so unexpected and it catches him completely off guard. Breathlessly, he scrambles to try and figure out where she’s coming from.

“W-What? No, what would I lie to you about, Speedy?” 

“You sound a little sad. And I just want you to know that I’m okay. And you’re gonna be okay. You just have to keep your head up, right?”

“I think the expression is ‘keep your chin up’. But yeah, you’re right, Thea. I am sad. It umm… it hasn’t been easy being in here.” 

“I know you’re fighting against a lot of health stuff that’s not easy. But… I just want you to know that even when you’re tired and you wanna give up, you can’t. Okay? You aren’t done fighting, Ollie. You gotta keep going.” 

“I know, I know. I’m just ah… Having a hard time being all alone here.” 

“You are _ not _alone. There’s people out here who care about you.” 

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. And that’s not all.” 

“What else?” 

“People… people believe in you.” 

“People, huh?”

“Well, _ I _ believe in you. And so does Tommy. That makes two people. And I bet the people there in the hospital do too.” 

At this, he feels a ghost of a smile flit across his face and he nods, holding on to the receiver tightly. She can’t have any idea how much he needed to hear those words. But he did. And hearing this from her? It helps. Tremendously. And she’s right - Dr. Schwartz is rooting for him. So is Miss Nice Nurse, as he now refers to her (he can never remember her name, something unusual and happy sounding) - since she helped him deliver his apology drawing to Bee, she’s been a newfound confidante and that’s been nice. She definitely is rooting for him. But most importantly of all? 

So is Bee. Or at least, so _ was _Bee; he’s not so sure she’s a fan of his now, given everything.

“Thanks, Speedy.” 

The two talk a while longer. His sister informs him that she’s almost over her cold and she plans on coming to the hospital and soon. Oliver’s heart swells nearly to bursting. _ He’s going to get to see Thea. _The very thought alone is enough to make him feel buoyant enough to float away. By the time the two hang up, he’s positively featherlight. 

Thea is coming. And Bee? _ Bee is going to be okay. _She has to be; Oliver will accept no other outcome. And though he cannot go and see her today, he has every intention of doing so as soon as he’s allowed to. But first, he must apologize. In keeping with his first apology, he decides a drawing will be the best way to go about things. 

Miss Nice Nurse assists him in procuring the necessary supplies and in short order, Oliver is crafting his very best doodles of the next chapter in The Green Arrow’s story. After what he did? He needs a grand gesture, or so Miss Nice Nurse tells him. And drawings coupled with more of Oliver’s attempts at storytelling are, oddly enough, the grandest of gestures in Bee’s eyes. Or, so it has appeared thus far. 

The best thing that he can do, he believes, is to skip ahead. Or perhaps to gloss over the hard parts. Perhaps if she knows how everything ends with this difficult chapter, he can make amends for the trials and tribulations that he upset her with earlier. 

He runs with this idea as far as it will carry him. And though he’s once more winging it, this entire tale has been a series of shots in the dark and by and large, they’ve landed well with her (except for those that were clearly intended not to, all of which he intends to set to rights now). In short order, he’s got a nice little stack of completed drawings. The last one that he does, however, is not a part of The Green Arrow anthology. This one is different and, unequivocally, the most important of all of them. That one, he sets on top of all the others when it is finished and he sends up a silent prayer that Bee will give him the opportunity to share all of these - but especially this last one - with her.

By the time he has finished with his coloring, night has fallen and it is late. He longs to sneak over to Bee’s room and check on her, to see how these crucial twenty four hours are passing for her. Is she improving and stabilizing? Is she plateauing but not worsening? Or is she slipping back towards critical? It kills him not to know and the nurses aren’t particularly forthcoming with the details. Not like Doctor Schwartz was, that’s for certain. 

So he must wait. And hope. 

The night passes fitfully. He manages to snatch moments of sleep; a few minutes here, a half hour there. None of it restful. Most of it is marked by more of the fragmented colors he has had nightmares and dreams of ever since waking up after the accident. Tonight is no exception; he sees a vivid, clear blue that seems to pierce through him. Blue gives way to a sharp, jade green and then green morphs into red. But not just any red. He sees bright red. Cherry red, firetruck red. _ Blood red. _

The dream changes. It is no longer the broken images he’s become so accustomed to seeing in his sleep. Everything goes from a sea of disjointed red hues and all at once, everything snaps into clear focus. Suddenly, Bee is in his arms and pouring out of her is a river of cardinal red. It engulfs him, dripping down his fingers and pooling at his feet as her little face goes pale and slack. 

He wakes bathed in sweat and breathing heavily, wild eyed and panicked. As if he needed further proof of his culpability, now he is literally dreaming of having her blood on his hands. Right away, he’s losing control, fighting the urge to fling himself out of his hospital window. No matter how godawful he feels, he can’t do that. No matter how guilty he is, no matter how responsible he feels (and very well may be) for her hematoma rupturing, he can’t do that. He can’t take that easy way out. He’s got to fight to stay here. To get better. So that when she’s ready for visitors, he can be the first at her door and beg her forgiveness. Oliver must earn absolution from her. It’s the only way he’ll ever be able to look at himself in the mirror, or ever hope to sleep restfully again. 

Oliver must make peace with Bee. He just hopes he’ll get the chance to try. 

After the morning rounds, he pulls Doctor Schwartz aside. She assures him that the hematoma rupture was not caused by him, though he’s not inclined to believe her. It’s obvious she realizes this as well, because in short order she’s lecturing him on how unhealthy it is to blame himself for everything and telling him that he is under no circumstances, allowed to feel guilty about Bee’s surgery - nothing he’s said or done caused it in any way, shape, or form.

He still doesn’t believe her by the time she finishes lecturing him, but he’s at least not leaning quite as hard into the self loathing and self blame. 

The best news, however, comes in the form of the Bee update he receives from Doctor Schwartz.

“Well, she seems to be stabilizing. She made it through the night without any major setbacks or any unusual twists or turns in her vitals. I’d say we’re cautiously optimistic. Make no mistake - she is still very delicate and we need to proceed with caution where she’s concerned.”

“...But…?” Oliver trails off hopefully, only for the doctor to roll her eyes at him in amusement. 

“But, I spoke with her mother regarding her outlook and she agreed to allow you to visit Bee. However… she wants to speak with you first.” 

At this, Oliver cringes guiltily because he has a feeling this conversation isn’t going to be a pleasant one. 

“Can you talk to her for me?” 

“Oh come on, Oliver.” 

“Doc, she’s gonna hate me. In her eyes, I’m the one responsible for her kid having surgery-” Doctor Schwartz opens her mouth to interrupt and he holds up a hand. “I know, I know, it’s not my fault. I heard you before. But that doesn’t mean that’s how _ she’s _gonna see it.” 

“I think she just wants to lay some ground rules for your visit.” 

Oliver’s mouth clamps shut and he considers this possibility. Even if he’s about to get chewed out (which honestly, he would deserve), if enduring that will open the door to allow him to visit Bee? It will be worth it. 

“Alright. So if I talk to her mom first, then I get to see Bee?” 

“I think that’s her intention, yes.” 

“Then I’ll do it.” 

Doctor Schwartz seems surprised by his willingness but after she takes a moment to recover, she nods at him. 

“Alright. Then let’s go.” 

Now it’s _ his _turn to be surprised.

“What… right now?!” 

“What, do you have somewhere else you need to be?” 

“No! No. I just… Yeah, okay, I’m coming.” 

Oliver takes the time to gather his stack of drawings and he passes a hand nervously through his hair. No point asking what he looks like - Frankenstein’s monster, he’d wager. At least he’s dressed in less frightening attire than a monster. Perhaps that will help offset his appearance. For all the time he’s spent with Bee, he hasn’t really met her mother and the fact that he went off on her daughter? Probably hasn’t earned him any points.

Just thinking about Bee’s mom, he’s already on edge. This is a woman who has lost her husband and nearly lost her daughter in the same accident. This is a woman who is working insane hours just to afford the medical bills. And while Oliver Queen has always prided himself on his ability to charm women, ‘grieving widow’ isn’t really a genre he’s well versed in. And he’s not sure that he’s up to the task of charming one now, least of all with something as important as his ability to visit with Bee riding on the outcome. 

He follows Doctor Schwartz out of his room, hesitating for a moment in the doorway before trailing along behind her. She navigates the halls of the hospital with a relaxed ease that Oliver himself does not feel and leads him not too terribly far, across the wing and down a few doors. When they arrive, the door to Bee’s room requires no introduction; there are drawings taped all over it. He can see some of her trademark, horrendous doodles and already, his nerves are spiking at the thought of being in her presence again. 

Doctor Schwartz shoos him away from the door and then knocks. She sticks her head in and murmurs a few things Oliver doesn’t quite catch. There’s a delay of no more than fifteen or so seconds and then a small, feminine figure slips out into the hallway to join them. 

Oliver isn’t quite sure what he was expecting rough and tumble, mummy bandaged head and cast clad armed Bee’s mother to look like. Perhaps distraught and frantic? Or maybe angry and cynical? He really doesn’t know. But the reality? It definitely doesn’t match up with whatever vague idea or expectations he may have had. She’s quite a bit older than Oliver is - he’d guess she’s in her mid to late thirties - and she seems reserved as opposed to her daughter’s brash boldness. She is neither angry nor distraught, both of which come as a great relief. 

“You’re Bee’s Mother?” He queries by way of greeting. If he weren’t feeling so concerned about Bee and their pending reunion, her mother would be a welcome distraction - she’s actually quite pretty. He’d even venture to call her downright hot - not even with the caveat of ‘for an older woman’. But that’s not why he’s here, he reminds himself sternly. He’s here to make amends with Bee. 

He refocuses just in time to catch the way Bee’s mom nods with a soft, almost sad smile.

“That would be me. The elusive mother figure, making a rare appearance. And you must be her friend, ‘Oliver not Ollie’. Nice to officially meet you,” Bee’s mother retorts and he can’t hold back a chuckle as he nods.

“Ah, is that how I’m referred to? Yeah that uh… That would be me.” 

“My daughter is quite taken with you and the story you’ve been telling her. And while I’ve had my doubts about letting this whole thing go on, Doctor Schwartz has been very complimentary about the effect you two seem to have on each other.” 

Oh man. He owes the doc some serious thanks. She’s seen through his bullshit and his bluster to know that beneath it all, he really does genuinely care. Even when he didn’t think he did, back at the beginning, Oliver can see clearly now that all along? He’s cared about Bee since very early on in their whole arrangement. 

“I care a great deal about your daughter,” Oliver begins uneasily and Bee’s mom nods, not seeming to question or doubt him on this, for which he is grateful.

“I believe you. But that being said… Bee is very vulnerable right now. She… she needs to be treated with great care. And I know she loves this story of yours but she’s also very invested in it and I know, from what she’s told me, that there are certain more… perhaps ‘_ adult’ _aspects to it than I would like her exposed to. But she’s been handling it well, up until recently. I just… I’m asking you to be gentle with my daughter. She’s my world and I won’t let anything happen to her. So if you can’t do that, Mister Queen, please don’t go in that room. Please just turn around and go back down this hallway and don’t put her through that. She’s already been through more than any child should have to bear. Losing a parent and enduring surgery after surgery has been hard enough on her… I don’t want her to lose a friend too.” 

He feels like he’s gotten roundhouse kicked in the heart. Oliver can feel just how distraught Bee’s mother is at the notion of her daughter enduring another loss and in the moment, all he wants is to promise her that he’ll safeguard her daughter’s heart. Even if Bee’s mother is more composed than he would have expected her to be, that composure has its limits - and he’s pretty sure they’re edging near to those limits standing here, discussing her daughter’s fragile state. 

“It just so happens that I have some very recent experience in the loss department… I promise you, I won’t put Bee through that. No kid deserves that - least of all your daughter. She’s been the one good thing to come out of this place for me. You have my word, I’ll be careful with her.” 

He can see the relief swoop across her face, chased quickly by the tears she’s trying to stifle. Taking a quavering breath, Bee’s mother nods and places one hand on the door. 

“I should warn you, she’s pretty upset with you-”

“I would expect nothing less, given my behavior last time. Fortunately, I come armed with apology drawings,” Oliver explains, holding aloft his little stack of colored illustrations. With a soft chuckle, Bee’s mother smiles. 

“Ah. I see Bee’s shared her penchant for coloring with you. That’s nice. She was too ashamed to color for a while here. With her arm in the cast, her drawings weren’t coming out up to her high standards. It’s been slow going, but I think your story and her desire to draw it have helped her find the confidence to attempt to color left handed.” 

At this, realization dawns on Oliver and he feels like a complete mook.

“You’re telling me she’s right handed, and she’s been drawing with her left hand this entire time?” 

Bee’s mother nods and Oliver rubs his right temple in disbelief and surprise and frustration with himself. _ Of course_. 

“I’m an idiot. I didn’t put two and two together until just now,” he admits and Bee’s mom just shakes her head and laughs. 

“It’s fine. Fortunately, it’s not really in your job description to notice these things. You’re the friend, not the doctor; lacking observational skills is less of an issue for you.” 

They share a smile and Oliver readies himself to go inside. As Bee’s mother swings the door open, he sucks in a breath and steps in behind her. 

The room is similar in size and shape to his own, though it lacks a window, just as Bee had told him early on in their blossoming friendship. But where Oliver’s room practically smells of antiseptic and echoes with the emptiness of the space, this one clearly sees some foot traffic. There’s a set of chairs nestled at Bee’s bedside, laden with pillows that have clearly been brought from home. A pair of blankets are folded neatly over an arm of each chair and Oliver wonders, for a moment, if Bee’s mother or other loved ones have actually slept here in the hospital with her on occasion - it certainly would appear that way. 

Crayon colored drawings adorn every wall, softening the sterile hospital vibe considerably. And if there were any remaining sense of barren, unwelcoming medical air left about the place, it has certainly been dispelled by the clear strand of Christmas lights that have been strung around Bee’s bed, literally lighting up the space and lightening the mood. 

The patient in question is tucked into her hospital bed, accompanied by a host of stuffed animals and, surprisingly, a young boy. Both of them look up at Oliver’s entrance into the room. The boy burrows into Bee’s side shyly but Bee doesn’t so much as flinch away from Oliver. Instead, she fixes him with a cold, unyielding stare and he can’t help but swallow nervously.

Initial impressions? It’s not looking good on the forgiveness front. 

“Bee? You’ve got some visitors,” her mother chirps as she reclaims her seat at her daughter’s bedside, glancing at Oliver and then the chair in such a way that he gathers the seat is available, if he wants it. He doesn’t; instead, he stands awkwardly at the foot of Bee’s bed, his hands shoved in his pockets. 

“Lieutenant, do you want to say hello to Bee’s visitor? This is Oliver.” 

God bless this woman. Oliver shouldn’t be surprised that Bee’s mom is forging ahead, not put off in the slightest by her daughter’s stone cold reaction. He should have known any force capable of birthing the likes of Bee had to be pretty tough herself. 

Beside Bee, the boy shakes his head and buries his face against Bee’s shoulder. Bee’s mom shrugs, not terribly concerned.

“You’ll have to excuse Bee’s brother, Lieutenant. He’s very shy.” 

“No worries big man,” Oliver murmurs, his words earning him one eye peeking out from beside Bee to study him with interest. “We can get to know each other a little bit at a time. That’s how your sister and I became friends.” 

At this, the boy’s one eye pops open wide in surprise but otherwise, he gives no indication of having heard - or cared - about Oliver’s words. Geez. Tough crowd; he’d best focus his efforts on Bee then, if this is the kind of audience participation he can count on. Dang. 

“Speaking of which… Bee I’d like to umm… Well I’d like to apologize to you.” 

“You ruined the story.” She’s blunt and to the point, he’ll give her that much. Oliver nods and stares at the floor, scuffing his feet on the tile uneasily. 

“Yeah, yeah I know I did,” he admits weakly. “But Bee, if you give me a chance, I’d like to make it up to you. You see, that wasn’t the _ end _of the story…” He trails off in what he hopes is a tantalizing manner. His hopes are resting squarely on the force of Bee’s own curiosity and love for The Green Arrow’s story and for a long moment, Oliver is afraid he’s overplayed his hand. Then, the smallest chink in Bee’s unforgiving armor appears. 

“...Is there more stabbing?” 

Before he can stop himself or think better of it, Oliver scoffs. 

“It’s an action story, Bee. Of course there’s more stabbing!” 

A quiet throat clearing interrupts them and he glances over to where Bee’s mother is studiously examining a magazine. Her eyes lift over the top of the pages and she gives the barest shake of her head. 

Right. She might be hot, but at the end of the day, Bee’s mom is just that - a mom. She’s not going to be a fan of the more violent aspects of the action adventure story that Oliver has been crafting. And while his instinctive response is to say ‘you can’t please everyone’, this time Oliver pauses and reconsiders. 

“I’m just kidding, Bee. There’s no more stabbing.”

The stoic little face staring back at him from a mountain of stuffed animals considers his words, weighing them with serious distrust. 

“You said you lied before. And that The Green Arrow’s not a hero.” 

“I was wrong Bee. I meant that he wasn’t a hero _ right then. _Because he had lied to his friends, to protect them from The Demon’s Head. That wasn’t very hero-like.” He tries to explain. Oliver finds his eyes sliding back to the mom, who isn’t looking up from her magazine this time. But off to the side, blocked from Bee’s view by the magazine itself, he sees her make a motion with her hand, signalling him to keep going. 

“At this point in the story, he’s still a little bit vigilante. But by the end of it all, he’s going to be a hero. One hundred percent.” 

This earns him a smile from Bee’s mom but a fierce scowl from her mini me as Bee stares him down, just trying to break him. And really, he had thought he had known the ferocity of this little pipsqueak but his estimates were far, far too low. She’s practically leonine. 

“You promise?” 

“I promise.” 

“Cross your heart?” 

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Oliver affirms and really, that’s more of a possibility than ever these days, so that goes to show how seriously he’s taking this. 

“Pinky promise on it,” she demands and Oliver raises his brows in surprise but then almost trips over himself trying to move forward, his pinky outstretched.

“Yeah yeah, pinky promise,” he nods, watching delightedly as her tiny pinky wraps around his in what is perhaps the single most solemn vow Oliver has ever made in his twenty-two years of life. When Bee breaks the contact though, she follows up their promise with a verbal slap that stings. 

“I’m still mad at you for lying,” Bee huffs out and Oliver swallows down the hurt and shame that he feels because after all… she’s justified in feeling that way. He can’t say he blames her. 

“Yeah, I’m mad at me too.” 

“You not gonna lie no more?” 

“No Bee, I’m not going to lie anymore. I’m just going to tell you the story of how The Green Arrow becomes a hero. And sometimes it’ll be scary and sometimes he’ll do bad things but I promise you, he’s going to be a hero in the end.” 

“But what about Team Arrow? He _ killed them!” _She reminds him shrilly and Oliver nods, holding back a smile. 

“Well, if it’s okay with your mom and your brother, I could tell you what happens next? Because guess what? Team Arrow? They aren’t dead.” 

At this, Bee goes tense with surprise and he can feel the weight of her focus resting squarely on his shoulders. 

“They’re not dead?” The spark of optimism in her voice does not pass by unnoticed and Oliver feels warmth blossoming within his chest as renewed hope courses through him. 

“No Bee, they are _ not _dead. But The Green Arrow had to make everyone - including the team - think that they were in order for his plan to work.” 

“His plan?!”

“Oh yes. The Green Arrow had a plan to defeat The Demon’s Head. But he had to keep it secret from everyone - even The Spartan and The Overwatch - for it to work.” 

“That’s stupid!” Bee howls suddenly and before Oliver can say anything, her mother flicks her magazine down so that she can fire off a warning look at her daughter.

“Bee! We don’t use that word. You know that. What should you say instead?” 

Glowering and with her ego still smarting, Bee fumes quietly under her breath as she crosses her arms before her irritably, jostling her (still hiding) little brother a bit as she does so. 

“That’s not smart,” she grumbles, glancing to her mother, who nods approvingly. This alternative declaration, it seems, is acceptable. But boy. If the word ‘stupid’ is off limits, how much of this story that he’s been telling would Bee’s mom disapprove of? He shudders to think of it. Glancing from Bee to her mother and back, Oliver gets the sense that they’re finished, so he carries on.

“The Green Arrow protected all of Team Arrow against the killer virus before he left to join The Demon’s Head. So when they thought they were dying, really they just went to sleep for a little while. Long enough to make it _ look _like they were dead - and like The Green Arrow had really become a bad guy,” Oliver explains, grabbing the corresponding illustration from the little stack of them he’s got waiting neatly in his hands. He passes this to Bee for her and her brother to look at, and carries on talking. 

“And then, The Green Arrow turned against The Demon’s Head. He tried to crash the plane and stop him from bringing the Alpha-Omega virus to the city. But it didn’t work and The Green Arrow had to escape the plane, along with the Daughter of the Demon.” 

At this moment, Bee’s eyes flash and she seems to remember something. Right away, her little face turns stormy and she throws her good arm up in the sky, as if to raise her hand and be called on. Only, Bee doesn’t wait to be called upon - she just _ goes off. _

“Did The Green Arrow _really _marry the Daughter of the Demon? ‘Cause he’s in love with The Overwatch! Thems _kissed!! _And The Overwatch told him she loves him! He shouldn’t marry the ‘ssassin girl. That would just be stu- _dumb,” _Bee catches herself just in the nick of time, her mother raising one eyebrow in warning but doing nothing more. Sighing in relief, Bee returns to scowling at Oliver. 

“Umm. Well yeah, I mean he really did marry her.”

Oh man. Wrong answer. Bee’s little face screws up in anger and Oliver feels as though she’s about to go nuclear, so he hastens to correct this grave error.

“But it’s not a real marriage. And neither of them _ want _ to be married. And you’re right, The Green Arrow _ does _love The Overwatch. And she loves him. So I don’t think his marriage to the Daughter of the Demon really counts. Do you?” 

At this, the stormclouds roll back a little and her expression clears as Bee contemplates this. 

“No. Doesn’t count,” she confirms, seemingly satisfied. _ Thank goodness. _That was close. Oliver sees Bee’s mom holding back a smile and at this, he feels encouraged. 

“Anyway, those two escape the plane together. And they get to the city and find Team Arrow. Everyone is mad and they don’t trust each other. Because The Green Arrow lied and he hurt his team. They don’t trust him like they used to. But they still work together to protect the city. Because they’re good guys. And that’s what good guys do.” 

He can tell that Bee is sinking into the story once again, despite whatever reservations she may or may not still have. There’s a little of that slack jawed wonder loosening her facial muscles and she’s leaning forward just a touch in her bed, her brother still tucked at her side. Even the boy is coming around though. Oliver notices that now both of the younger brother’s eyes are visible and fully trained on Oliver, though the kid is still clinging to his big sister. 

He continues to tell the story, detailing how The Green Arrow and his team work together with other characters - The Daughter of the Demon, The ATOM, The Speedy, and more - to bring down The Demon’s Head and protect the city from the destructive virus. More than once, he gets censored by Bee’s mom - apparently shooting people with arrows is not great story material for kids. And as it turns out, even blood-free deaths such as breaking the neck, are rather frowned upon. 

Huh. Good to know. And good thing Bee’s mom wasn’t around trying to censor him in the story’s infancy, back when The Green Arrow was putting arrows through everyone that he crossed paths with and killing his way down the list of wrongdoers given to him by his father. Oliver has a distinct feeling that would _ not _have gone over well. Oops.

Eventually, the story reaches a climax as The Green Arrow faces off with The Demon’s Head once again. This time as they fight, they are evenly matched; The Green Arrow has a newfound sense of meaning thanks to the pep talk he received from The Overwatch. Now, he is fighting to live and with that powerful sense of purpose, his fight with The Demon’s Head turns out much differently this time around.

This time, The Green Arrow is the one to plunge a sword through The Demon’s Head. (He gets a warning look from Bee’s mom at this one, so he doesn’t linger on the gory details.)

And just when all seems well, The Green Arrow is shot by the officers watching from down below. Almost in slow motion, he topples over the railing and plummets towards the bottom of the dam and certain death. 

Until, that is, an unexpected streak of glinting metal goes blasting across the sky, snatching The Green Arrow out of the air mere moments away from what would have been a most unfortunate demise. With the hero safe in the arms of the ATOM suit, the contraption turns and heads for the downtown city building the team has been operating out of. When The Green Arrow finally regains his feet on the rooftop, he looks up to discover none other than The Overwatch in the suit; she left her important work at the computers to The ATOM and flew to his aid as soon as she heard from the team’s friendly police force member that the officers on site were preparing to shoot at him. She couldn’t risk anything bad happening to him when she’s only just gotten him back from the League of Assassins. 

Bee actually lets out a very tiny squeal of delight at this and claps her hands together once as Oliver explains the team coming back together. And although she’s a bit miffed that The Spartan does not yet forgive The Green Arrow, her disappointment is tempered by the news that The Green Arrow drives off into the sunset with The Overwatch. The drawing that accompanies this part of the story delights her and Bee goes so far as to compliment his coloring skills.

Oliver’s never been so delighted at his ability to wield a crayon before. 

Sensing that he has pushed his luck enough for one day, Oliver decides to end the story there; he’s sure the family probably wants to spend time together without him. And knowing as he does how many hours Bee’s mother must spend away from her daughter, working? Well, he doesn’t want to deprive them a moment with each other. 

“Listen Bee, I’m feeling pretty tired… If it’s okay, I’d like to stop there and maybe come back another time to tell you some more?” 

The pause before she responds feels like a lifetime. But after considering his offer, Bee eventually nods and Oliver feels as if five hundred tons of pressure has been lifted off of him. _ Thank god. _

“Awesome. Thanks Bee. Umm… before I go, I have one more thing for you.” 

He’s been saving it. He placed this drawing on the top of the pile but when confronted with the notion of actually giving it to her, he didn’t have the balls. Now? There’s nothing left but to give it to her. He can’t leave here with it. He has to give it to her - he won’t be able to deal with himself if he doesn’t. 

Oliver passes the single sheet of paper over to her. Her lap is already covered in the various illustrations of The Green Arrow’s story that he made for her but she eagerly presents her outstretched hands to him to accept this latest offering. 

Her bright eyes dart across the page and Oliver feels his heart hammering nervously as he waits for the final verdict from his most important judge. Mercifully, she doesn’t keep him in suspense for too long. When she looks back up at him, her lips are pulled into a wide smile and her eyes are positively glittering. 

“That’s _ ME!” _She jabs a hand at the illustration, where a tiny crayon Bee - complete with bandaged head and casted arm - is standing alongside a drawing of The Green Arrow on one side and on her other side? He’s drawn a simple figure meant to be himself, also with a bandaged head to try and get the idea across. 

Fortunately, Bee is very fluent in bad drawings and she seems to discern who is beside her illustrated self with relative ease. 

“That’s you?!” His answering nod is met with a soft whoop. “And that’s The Green Arrow?” She points once more and again, he confirms this with a nod of his head. This time, Bee’s whoop is louder and almost delirious with joy. “I’m The Green Arrow’s sidekick?!” She asks and Oliver chuckles. Not exactly what he had in mind, but why the hell not? 

“You sure are, Bee.” 

This obviously pleases her and she’s so wrapped up in looking at the drawing and gabbing away animatedly to her little brother that she doesn’t seem to notice as Oliver heads for the door. It isn’t until he cracks it open that a thin little voice rises out to meet him.

“You comin’ back tomorrow?”

Oliver hesitates and then turns to face her, biting back the relieved tears already pricking the corners of his eyes at this small gesture of goodwill. It’s a small step but a step in the right direction nonetheless. 

“Yeah… Yeah I could come back tomorrow. If that’s alright?” 

Bee nods at him and his heart practically quadruples in size but he can’t get his hopes up _ too _high just yet. Before he can allow himself to hope, he steals a peek over at Bee’s mother, who purses her lips together thoughtfully and then gives the barest of nods. 

He’s allowed to come back tomorrow. 

His heart soaring, Oliver bids the little family goodbye and slips out of the room. The door doesn’t even get a chance to close behind him though; to Oliver’s surprise Bee’s mom steps out into the hallway to join him. 

“Thank you. That was sweet of you.” 

“For upsetting your daughter enough to require an apology in the first place? Yeah. I’m a peach.” Things may have gone well but Oliver still hasn’t forgiven himself for the events that have required him to come here and make amends in the first place. 

“For thinking a little girl is worth an apology to begin with. For taking the time to come over here and check on her. For making her all those drawings. And just… for caring. Thank you.” 

He isn’t sure what to say in the face of such unexpected kindness. Once again, Bee’s mom has surprised him; instead of being suspicious and guarded and cold, she’s been exceptionally kind and warm and welcoming. That’s impressive as hell - especially considering the family’s loss. 

“I wanted to say… I’m sorry,” he begins uneasily and she waves a hand at him dismissively.

“For the whole falling out you two had? Don’t sweat it. Trust me, I’m a mom. I’ve wanted to pull my own hair out more times than I can count. I get it.” 

“No, not for that.” At this, her head whips to look at him, her brows sloped into a frown. “I mean, yes, I am sorry for that, but that’s not what I was going to say. What I was going to say was… I’m sorry about… About your husband.” 

This is clearly not what Bee’s mom expected him to say and now, for the first time since he came over here, she looks properly wounded and grieving. Shit. He’s kicked all this up for her, hasn’t he? Maybe this was a bad idea. 

“E-Excuse me?” 

“I-I just… The nurses told me. What happened. That you guys lost him in the accident that landed Bee in here. And I just… I’m really sorry. I lost my dad in the accident that put me in here so… I guess I can sort of relate.” 

Oliver rubs the back of his neck nervously, afraid that he may have just totally blown his chances of seeing Bee again by going off on this tangent in front of her mother. _ Crap. _Her eyes are blinking back tears frantically and he can see her throat working as she attempts speech several times before she takes a long, quavering breath to try and steady herself. Her pain and her grief are written plainly on her features. There’s a haunted, aching beauty there. Broken and beautiful really do go together - at least where she’s concerned. He very much doubts his brand of ‘broken’ lends itself to any sort of ‘beauty’. 

“I-I’m sorry it just… You caught me by surprise. This has all been very hard and the focus has - rightfully - been on Bee so I...I’m just not used to being the one who gets told ‘sorry’. Thank you… That umm. That means a lot to my family and I.”

Uncertain what to say, Oliver rubs his fingers together at his sides for a moment. Grief… grief is not something he can handle right now; he can scarcely compartmentalize his own grief, let alone assist Bee’s mother with hers. So instead, he takes the coward’s way out; he ducks his head at her by way of parting and without another word, he departs. He hurries back across the ward and to his room, which feels dreadfully empty and sad when compared with the radiating joy and comfort of Bee’s own small slice of hospital real estate. Despite returning to his drab little space though, Oliver’s spirits remain remarkably high. Bee is alright. She’s going to be okay. And she’s forgiven him - or started to - and that is almost everything he could possibly ask for from the universe.

Settling back into his bed, Oliver requests a pad of paper and pencil from Miss Nice Nurse who comes by later on her usual set of rounds. She's extremely attentive and encourages him even when he gets stuck, which he appreciates. In short order, he’s jotting down his notes for the remainder of The Green Arrow’s story, intent on crafting the best possible storyline. He has to create a masterpiece for Bee now. They’ve come too far for him to let this silly storytelling thing fizzle out now. 


	8. Chapter 8

The dinner trolley comes and goes and Oliver barely picks at his food, still too focused with his tale. He crafts new villains that will make appearances soon, who he thinks Bee will delight in. (He’s particularly proud of naming the upcoming group of villains “HIVE” and he plans on working in some fun ‘bee’ tie ins - he’s certain Bee will delight in that). He’s also quite certain that Bee will be completely invested in learning about the mysterious ‘Ghosts’ that make up ‘HIVE’. 

He outlines villain after villain and one event after the other. He even sprinkles in little ways for The Green Arrow and The Overwatch to be together and reasons for them to break up. In the end though, he knows he’ll have to ensure they get a happy ending - he knows all too well that his audience of one will riot if they don’t. She may love The Green Arrow, but Bee loves the love story between the archer and The Overwatch almost as much.

Oliver’s neck deep in sketching out a loose idea he has for The Green Arrow to go to prison (which he reckons will have Bee _ howling _ mad but he’s pretty sure he can pull off the idea in a way that will leave things okay-ish in the end) when there’s an unexpected knock at the door. He doesn’t look up from his diligent note taking, assuming that it’s Miss Nice Nurse coming by to take his vitals or the like, seeing as Bee is in no condition to be out wandering the halls (and she never knocks anyhow). But then a voice, equal parts familiar and foreign, cuts through the quiet. 

“Hey Ollie.” 

His head whips up in surprise, his notes forgotten. When he sees the face of the woman looking back at him though, the pencil slips through his fingertips and clatters to the floor.

Standing before him is a thin brunette woman who is both unmistakable and unrecognizable all at once; her hair is worn down in loose waves that reach just past her shoulders. It’s shorter than it was before he left on the Gambit - she must have cut it. But that’s not what catches him so completely off guard about the unexpected arrival of his baby sister.

Thea is not the twelve year old girl he said goodbye to just a few short weeks ago. Standing before him is a grown woman and though his mind rebels against the very notion, there’s no denying that this is very clearly his sister.

“S-Speedy?” He stammers out in disbelief, his eyes round with confusion and shock as he stares at her unblinkingly. Even from here, he can see Thea’s got a set of scars below her right eye that certainly weren’t there before. But her face… she’s older. Aged. But otherwise? It’s unmistakably his Thea. His Speedy.

“W-What’s going on? What happened to you, Speedy?” 

“Nothing, Ollie.” 

“Nothing?! I’m going to have to call BS on that one. You… you’re an _ adult_. God, you look older than me! How is that even possible? You… You were _ twelve _!”

“Yeah, I was twelve when you got on the yacht with Dad,” Thea allows with a nod as she slips into the room, closing the door gently behind her. Oliver can’t help but scramble up into a sitting position, partly out of alarm and partly out of inability to sit still in the face of this _ utter lunacy_. 

“That was a few _ weeks _ ago. What… What happened to you, Thea?” 

“I told you, Ollie. Nothing happened - _ to me_.” Her emphasis on the last two words in that sentence does not go unnoticed but his heart is racing and his brain is short circuiting trying to grasp what the _ fuck _ is going on here. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“It means something happened _ to you _ Oliver.” Thea says the words gently but Oliver feels as though he’s been hit with a taser. His whole body goes rigid and he feels as though every nerve ending is crackling with tense energy. 

“I’m sorry, did I wake up in some alternate universe?!” He queries scathingly and Thea only chuckles and shakes her head. 

“You’re still on Earth-1, Ollie. You didn’t travel to any of the other Earths. Don’t be ridiculous.” 

“Yes, because you magically aging a couple decades is fine, but me joking about alternate universes is a stretch,” Oliver fires back defensively, pausing as her words catch up to him. “Wait, what the hell are you talking about, ‘other Earths’??” 

Thea sighs and passes a hand over her face.

“I knew it was too soon. She said it wasn’t but I should have known.” 

“Who said? What’s too soon? What the hell is going on here? Thea will you give me some answers, _ please_?!” 

“Ollie, the yacht really did sink. And Dad really did die. But you didn’t.” 

“I know, I woke up here after they pulled me out of the water.” 

“No. You didn’t. You were gone for five years after the yacht went down. You were found and brought back here in 2012.”

The room starts to spin as he tries to process this information. How is it possible that he was gone so long and he has no memory of it? Five years? That’s half a decade of his life just _ gone. _ Vanished. _ Poof_. 

“I-I’ve been gone for _ five years?!” _He repeats in dismay. Thea creeps a little closer and though she’s not the Thea he remembers, her presence does offer some comfort as she lays a hand over his. 

“A-Actually Ollie… you _were_ _gone _for five years but you’ve actually been back for quite a while.” 

What? Now she’s lost him again; he’s confused. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean… What year do you think it is right now?” 

He stares at her in consternation. What’s she playing at? 

“I thought it was 2007. But you’re telling me I was gone for five years so… 2012? But come on, Speedy. That’s insane.” 

For one, even if it _ was _2012 - which he isn’t convinced that it is - that would make Thea what, seventeen? And the woman before him, while certainly not an old woman by any means, is definitely far older than seventeen. 

“Oliver… It’s 2025. The Gambit went down eighteen years ago.” 

It’s right around this point that Oliver ceases to truly function in any sort of meaningful way. Thea’s voice - if she’s still speaking at all - is drowned out by the roaring of the blood rushing through his ears and the deafening drumming of his heart trying to bust through his chest. 

_ Eighteen years?! _

That… That can’t be right. Eighteen years? That’s practically double his lifetime. He’s twenty two - or he was. If it has truly been eighteen years… He’s _ forty?! _How can he have no recollection of nearly half his life? His body feels cold and the cold numbs him to the terror and confusion at least a little. Distantly, sounds begin to invade the periphery of his senses. He can just barely hear his many sensors and monitors beeping, their shrill little alarm tones binging and dinging to alert the hospital staff to something being amiss. 

Activity comes sweeping in with the arrival of the staff and as he watches, paralyzed, the staff sweeps his sister out of the room. He catches snippets of words and explanations but he’s too lost to really understand any of it. The last thing he’s aware of is Doctor Schwartz leaning over him and speaking to him, her eyes urgently seeking out his.

“Just breathe,” he hears her say, but his chest is compressed with the anxiety of the bomb Thea has dropped on his entire world. _ Eighteen years. _A lifetime, practically. It is only as the shadowy hues crowd his vision and he drifts off into medicated sleep that Oliver feels his stress melt away. 

He dreams. Effervescent blue. Cardinal red. Jungle green. The colors are still jumbled and nonsensical; a fractured kaleidoscope of color without rhyme or reason. But the colors are different than when his dreams first started. The blue is no longer a multitude of ocean hues but instead, is one consistent, cornflower blue. The red is still bright, still intense, but it is not quite _ blood _red; it is candy apple red and devoid of the horror he initially associated with it. And the green; the green is a deep, intense jade hue. 

Even as the three colors swirl around him like broken stained glass, he doesn’t understand, doesn’t see how the dreams of colors have morphed from horrorscape to nonsensical, nonthreatening hues.

But even as he falls through this never ending tunnel of color within his dream, the colors begin to stitch themselves into true shapes. Emerald splinters piece themselves together and he sees an emerald clad archer, not unlike the character in his story. He sees a pair of green, _ green _eyes. Red becomes something he doesn’t quite recognize, punctuated with a golden lightning bolt. These images feel important, even within the context of the dream their consequence seems to shine through.

Then, the vivid blue chips and flakes begin to fall into place and suddenly, blue eyes are staring back at him. Everything disappears into total darkness save the blue eyes. And with a snap, the dream transforms; the swirl of colors and the eyes vanish, replaced by a gloomy, cavernous room. He stands dressed as the Emerald Archer from his story and before him, a lifelike embodiment of The Spartan stares back with crossed arms. Beside The Spartan, a blonde figure is typing at a computer. _ The Overwatch, _ Oliver’s brain supplies automatically_. _

As he watches, the blonde spins to face him and when her eyes meet his within the dream, electricity surges through him. Because the eyes, the eyes are the precise shade of blue that has been in his head for weeks; blue with a hint of gray, sharp and bright and familiar. 

Oliver wakes with a gasp, the afterimage of those beautiful eyes seemingly burned into his retinas even now that the dream has ended and the sight of them has gone away. He sits bolt upright in bed and looks frantically to the alarm clock; it is midmorning, which means he’s been out all night and missed the morning rounds. With impressive speed, his thumb mashes down the ‘CALL’ button. 

He’s spent the night dreaming of colors that he’s been seeing with increasing focus and clarity for weeks. But what’s more, he’s dreamt of things that he’s talked of in his story of The Green Arrow. The Spartan and The Overwatch of his dream? They have _ faces_. Faces that are entirely familiar. They don’t feel like the product of dreams. They feel like… _ memories. _And the longer he dwells on their faces and the dreams, the more uncertain he becomes. 

He needs answers. And now. 

The nice nurse comes in (Charity! That’s her name!) and Oliver makes his request. He feels selfish in the extreme doing it; if he’s wrong - which there is every possibility that he is - then he’s being a nuisance and an ass. But the events of yesterday have only touched at the tip of the iceberg, he can feel it. He needs her, needs her to aid him in sorting through these dreams, memories, whatever they are - he needs assistance. And she is the only one who can help. 

It feels like years pass before the knock comes at his door and he calls out a hoarse ‘Come in’. Already, he feels his heart’s tempo begin to pick up and though he tries to breathe himself back into a state of calm, his body knows no such peace. 

He’s on the verge of spiraling again when Bee’s mother slips quietly inside his room, her eyes downcast. 

“Nurse Charity said you wanted to speak to me? Is it something about Bee? Has she done something? Is she alright?” 

Oliver just looks blankly at the kid’s mom as he struggles to make sense of everything he knows (or rather, everything he _ doesn’t _know). 

“Yes. I-I mean no. Yes I asked to see you, no Bee hasn’t done anything, this isn’t about her. Yes she’s alright. It umm… Well this is about me. I-I need your help.” 

At this, Bee’s mother seems surprised, taken aback but already calming now that she knows her daughter is not in some sort of imminent danger. Relaxing as she leans against the wall with her arms folded before her, Bee’s mom lifts her chin and squares her shoulders before she draws her gaze up to meet his. 

The precise moment that their eyes meet, Oliver feels like he’s taken a sledgehammer to the chest. 

The blue eyes boring into his are the very same eyes from his dreams. And the face gazing at him now? It’s just an older version of the face that stared back at him before he woke. The Overwatch from his memory-like dreams? She’s a younger version of Bee’s mother, who stands before him now, guarded and confused. 

The Overwatch is Bee’s mom.

It’s a confounding realization. He tries to think back to the Halloween party; did he see her face then? Has his mind simply conjured an idea of what Bee’s mom would like like if she were younger and used that vision as a placeholder for The Overwatch character he’s created in his story? 

It’s possible. Perhaps even plausible, except for one very important detail: he’s not that creative. His brain would never concoct such a thing on its own. Which leaves only one other possibility, however ridiculous. 

He _ knows _ Bee’s Mom. 

Or rather, he _ knew _her. Back when she was young. Sometime during the eighteen years he’s apparently got no recollection of. And his brain has cast that memory of her younger self in the role of The Overwatch whilst he dreamed that his story was real. 

With a start, Oliver realizes several minutes have passed and neither of them has said anything; he has been staring at Bee’s mother in silence and she has done likewise with him, waiting for him to say his piece. 

“I… I knew you. Didn’t I? Before?” 

Though her nostrils flare minutely and her eyes grow a little rounder, she mostly does a good job at schooling her reaction. Still, Oliver can sense the faint hint of unease about her and in the tightness of her posture. Bee’s mom is holding something back; he’s certain of it.

“How do you mean?” 

She’s buying time to try and think up some excuse, he’d wager. But no matter. 

“My sister told me yesterday that eighteen years have passed since the accident that, in my mind, only happened a couple weeks ago. Now, either my sister is playing an incredibly elaborate and cruel prank - or she’s telling the truth. Either way though, last night I started having dreams that felt more like memories and I saw your face. So I’m going to ask you again and please, don’t lie to me - did I know you..._ before?” _

The question hangs suspended between them and his eyes remain locked on hers, partly as a means of applying pressure so that she’ll be honest with him and partly because he cannot bring himself to look away. 

He can almost see the precise moment when her carefully constructed walls begin to tumble down. Some of the cold in her eyes ebbs away, replaced with the tiniest current of warmth. And with that, he also spies tears crowding in at the corners of her eyes and welling within them. And though she blinks rapidly a few times to keep them from spilling over, there’s no holding them back; even as he watches, a lone tear traces down her left cheek.

“Yes.” Her voice is hoarse and barely a whisper but she may as well have screamed at him for the impact that single word has on him. His breathing kicks into overdrive and he leans forward in his bed, staring at her with hunger in his eyes. 

It’s as if he’s an old television stuck on a channel of all static. But through the white noise and the garbled pixelations, memories start to trickle in, slowly at first but gradually picking up speed. He’s already placed the blue from his dreams the moment he looked in her eyes again. But now, as he continues staring her down and she squares off right back, he sees that candy apple red again.

The red takes shape, not into the strange symbol he saw earlier but this time, into something simpler; a single red pen, pressed against luscious, red painted lips. His heart skips a beat when he realizes those lips are _ hers _ and for a moment, he cannot help the way his gaze drops to stare at them; she’s not wearing lipstick right now but the soft curve of her mouth is familiar and all too easily he can juxtapose the image of her with the red pen against the image of her now. 

His breathing increasingly ragged, Oliver forces himself to look away from the lips which, he’s now convinced he’s kissed before. Dragging his gaze back up to her eyes, he’s once more lost in flashes and snatches of memories and images from a past he’s piecing together with glue and string. 

_ He sees her in the front seat of a car, her mouth a rounded ‘o’ of surprise. He sees her tapping away at a keyboard in the foundry, stealing occasional glances at him as he does the salmon ladder. He sees her holding onto him tightly as they swing across an elevator shaft. He sees a compassionate hug and he hears her voice saying those life giving words ‘and I believe in you’. He sees her getting stitched up after taking a bullet, and hears himself telling her she’ll always be his girl. _

“Felicity?” 

His voice falters over those four, seemingly innocuous syllables which, when strung together, carry far more weight than he even realizes. 

As he watches, her teeth sink into her lower lip and her eyes overflow as the tears begin to streak quickly down her face. She nods, and the motion sends her golden curls bouncing as she struggles to maintain her composure when she’s clearly overcome with emotion. For the briefest moment, she can’t seem to meet his eyes and he’s desperate to find her gaze again. When he does, the recognition in her eyes is almost enough to knock him senseless.

“I-I remember you.”

_ He sees himself walking into her cubicle, sees the way she angles her head in disbelief at him. He sees her placing the mask upon his face for the very first time. Oliver sees them kiss for the first time, in the halls of this self same hospital. He sees himself saying goodbye to her and telling her he loves her as he leaves to fight Ra’s. _

He draws a rattling, uneven breath and stares her down, his chest heaving even as his fingers itch to take her hands in his. 

“W-We were something to each other. Weren’t we?” 

Even as he says the words, he’s getting more flashes. _ Her waiting nervously at the table before their first date. Removing her glasses in Nanda Parbat before their first time together. He hears her voice as she tells him that she loves him for the very first time. _

She swallows down a quiet sob and nods more emphatically this time.

“Y-Yes. We were.” 

_ He sees a Christmas tree lit up with twinkling lights, sees himself get down on one knee. He sees the bullets rip apart the limo, sees broken glass go flying. He sees her pale and sickly and still in a hospital bed and then he sees her in a wheelchair. He sees her taking off the engagement ring and placing it on the table between them with painful finality. He sees Felicity wobble up onto her own unsteady feet and as he watches she walks away from him without a backwards glance. _

They had been engaged. That thought leaves him thunderstruck and he’s staring at her with a desperate longing. At one point he had asked her to be his wife and she had said yes. And somehow, somewhere along the way, he lost her. As the memories keep returning to him, that realization hits all the more painfully. 

“W-What happened?” 

At this she ducks her head and he loses her gaze but her tears have not escaped his attention. It’s not hard to guess; with the kind of life he’s led, there are easily a thousand reasons why she would have ended things between them. And judging by how hard this interaction seems to be for her, clearly things didn’t end well. It was clearly a very bad breakup, for her to still be this twisted up about it, when years have passed and she’s moved on, gotten married, and had a family. Oliver feels positively ghastly that he could have hurt her so badly that she’s still wounded at the mere mention of their shared past. 

Sniffing, she walks slowly to his bedside and though there is a chair against the wall nearby, she seats herself gently on the edge of his bed and one of her hands comes to cover one of his.

“How much did Thea tell you?” 

“Not much… She said… She said that I was gone for _ five years _after the Gambit sank. But I don’t remember any of that time. I woke up here feeling like no time had passed at all.” He pauses and looks at her, surprised that he’s baring his soul like this to her; he’s only going off of snippets of memory but it feels like he can trust her. Besides, who else has he got? No one. Just an ex-girlfriend, apparently. 

How sad is that? 

“And Thea...she said it’s been _ eighteen years _ since the yacht went down.” He still can’t wrap his mind around that. He would be objecting rather strongly to the very idea if not for the flashes of memories and his dreams which have made everything so confusing and somehow, also so terribly clear. 

“And do you believe her?” Felicity asks, her fingers stroking the back of his hand reassuringly.

“I don’t know. She _ looks _eighteen years older. Hard to argue with that.” 

At this, Felicity grows quiet as she dabs the tears away from her eyes with her free hand. With a shaky breath, she offers him a watery smile. 

“Have you seen _ your _reflection?” 

He blinks at her for a moment in surprise because…. He’s just realized that no… He _ hasn’t. _

“I… Well...No. There isn’t a mirror in here and everyone said I looked like hell, so I wasn’t really keen on seeing my face looking like a Picasso self portrait,” he confesses and she laughs, albeit softly. 

“Here,” her voice is featherlight and her hand lifts away from his as she opens up her purse and digs within it. The moment her hand leaves his, Oliver misses the touch so acutely that it hurts. He watches as she withdraws a small, circular object from her purse. Her fingers press against it and he hears a soft _ click _just before she presents it to him. Belatedly, it registers that it’s a compact.

She’s offering him the chance to see his own face.

He’s overcome with nerves at the idea and for a brief second, he considers refusing. His hesitation must be evident because after a moment, her free hand encloses around his and gives it a warm squeeze as her eyes hold his.

“Hey… It’s okay. You are not alone; I’m right here.”

He exhales slowly and his fingers curl around hers, holding fast to her hand in his as the other hand lifts the compact to his face. He pans up slowly; the left side of his face, as everyone has told him, is a mess. He’s bruised and scraped, his nose is crooked, and his eye socket is a bit misshapen. The plastic surgeon really _ is _ going to have his hands full. The real shock, however, comes as he tilts the mirror to the side, revealing the right side of his face. The side that _ hasn’t _been injured.

This side of his face may have been spared by the accident but it has not been spared the ravages of time. 

His face is different; less full and more lined. He can see the beginning stages of wrinkles on his forehead and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes where there will someday soon be crow’s feet. Even between his brows, there’s the initial stages of frown lines. His eyes look a little more sunken in and his face seems squarer; the boyish qualities that looked back at him in the mirror as a twenty two year old have hardened into the resilient lines of a man grown and now, just passing his prime. 

If Oliver had doubted Thea before, he cannot possibly doubt her now, with the truth of her words quite literally staring him in the face. His breathing changes, growing more rapid and shallow. It’s so much to take in; nearly two decades of his life lost, as simply as that. But before he can go careening out of control, he feels the hand on his tighten and give a little shake. 

“Hey,” Felicity murmurs softly and he has to pause to take a breath before he tears his eyes away from his reflection to look at her. When she has his attention, she takes the compact from him and gingerly releases his hand so that she can hold the compact out and inspect herself. Catching his eye for a moment, she gives him a fluttering, self conscious smile. 

“Okay. See here? Forehead lines,” she holds her compact in one hand and points to the aforementioned lines on her face with the other. “And here? Laugh lines. You could do with some more of those, if you ask me,” she elbows him, though she does so with exceeding care - as if she knows of his broken ribs. “And yep, I’m definitely going to get neck wrinkles. Look at that,” she pokes her neck experimentally and he can’t help the soft snort that escapes him at this. 

“Oh you like that? Yeah well. The point is. It happens to all of us. It doesn’t mean you aren’t a heartthrob,” she teases and at this he smiles genuinely.

“You think I’m a heartthrob?” 

The moment the words are out of his mouth, she seems to sober, a little of the sparkle and the merriment leaving her as she clears her throat and grows serious. With a wince, Oliver mentally kicks himself. Felicity’s husband has just died; he can’t go saying things like that so insensitively. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I know, you’re… I mean, your husband just died, the last thing you need is your ex coming in, saying stuff like that to you.” 

Oliver shakes his head, inwardly kicking himself for his flub. Beside him though, Felicity has fallen still, and to his great surprise, she doesn’t seem upset. As he steals a glance at her, she looks almost tranquil as she stares off into space at the wall opposite of them.

“The night of the accident? My husband was driving to the corner store. Our youngest - Lieu - was sick. He took Bee so that I could focus on taking care of Lieu. They were just grabbing some cold medicine and pedialyte, maybe some fast food for dinner, and then they were coming right home. It was supposed to be fifteen, twenty minutes at most. I started getting worried when forty five minutes later, I hadn’t heard from them. And then the hospital called,” she sighs, shaking her head before she turns her head to meet his gaze. 

“I know his death has been really hard on you - all of you,” Oliver says gently, feeling for all the world as though he’s walking on thin ice. He wants to comfort but he’s afraid of overstepping, or crossing lines he doesn’t know exist. He can’t remember the bulk of their ill-fated relationship - he’s not exactly sure where the landmines are here. 

“Has Bee said anything to you about him?” Felicity asks curiously and Oliver shakes his head.

“No. We haven’t really talked about the accident. I think it upsets her.” 

“They were really close before the accident. He could do no wrong in her eyes. He was her hero,” Felicity explains and Oliver feels irrationally jealous of this man who went on to marry Felicity Smoak, to father a child as wonderful as Bee, and who had the love of these two amazing women before he died. 

Oliver might have survived his accident, but he doesn’t have much to show for it. And as an outsider looking in on the life he _ could _have had? It’s hard not to feel a little envious. 

“That had to be really hard on her when he died - on all of you,” Oliver grasps for something to say, though the words feel woefully inadequate. Felicity gives a soft exhale and he sees her lift one trembling hand.

“None of us ever said that he died - just that he was lost.” 

Her hand is shaking badly now as she reaches down her blouse and pulls out the chain of a simple silver necklace. At the end of it, a plain wedding band dangles. As he watches, she takes off the necklace and slides the ring off of the chain and holds it carefully in one hand. Her other hand reaches for his and flattens open his palm before she places the ring there, her whole body now trembling. 

“I’m hoping that he’s not lost anymore,” Felicity whispers hoarsely, lifting her eyes to meet his. Oliver feels his breathing stutter and catch and it’s all he can do to keep breathing as he looks from the ring to Felicity and back again, his mind whirling like mad. 

And then the memories hit. 

_ He remembers the impromptu proposal as she asked him to marry her there in Central City. He remembers Diggle presiding over their little wedding and the way she smiled at him. He remembers being thunderstruck at the sight of her, ethereal in white as she entered their wedding reception in Star City. He remembers holding her in his arms and feeling whole and at peace as they danced. He remembers promises of a honeymoon in Aruba. But most of all he remembers being so desperately happy and so deeply in love with her. _

“F-Felicity?” 

Her name falls from his lips heavy with confusion and more than a little distraught. But there’s hope and there’s joy in there too as his eyes travel from the ring in his hand to the matching band worn on her own ring finger. When his eyes travel up her body to meet her gaze, a huge piece of his memory falls into place with the force of an avalanche and Oliver can’t bring himself to look away.

_ Felicity is his wife. And he is her husband. _

His hands move swiftly to cup her face and for a moment he simply holds her there like that, his eyes drinking in the sight of her, beautiful in the extreme. Unbidden, a smile curves across his features and after another long moment, he moves quickly to slant his lips over hers in a kiss equal parts remembrance and discovery. 


	9. Chapter 9

_ A Few Weeks Earlier… _

Felicity has been holding things together about as nicely as anyone in her position can, in her humble opinion. There’s nothing easy about having a six year old daughter who’s bouncing off the walls while her three year old brother is throwing up. Add to the mix that Felicity has a board meeting tomorrow morning and William is coming home for a weekend visit from college this week and she’s a little stretched thin. 

Ordinarily, this would be a non-issue because Oliver is, quite possibly, the single most naturally domestically inclined human she has ever met. But Lucas Thomas - who they affectionately call “LT”, “Lieutenant” and sometimes “Lieu” - has just recently moved into a new, very ‘Mommy’ fixated stage of his very belated terrible twos and he absolutely refuses to be held by anyone other than her. So that means that she is the de facto choice for being on vomit patrol, board meeting be damned. 

Oliver’s kept Mia occupied though, which has been a huge help in many ways, though Felicity still must juggle Lieu while going over her notes for the board meeting. It’s a lot but the Smoak-Queen family is used to juggling. It’s just that in the past where they used to juggle work and vigilante-ing, they now are juggling work and family - which is actually a lot fracking easier in some ways and infinitely harder in others. 

CEO and Mom life has involved a lot less of being held at gun or sword point and a lot less of Oliver being in imminent danger. So in many ways, Felicity welcomes the vomit her son spews all over her notecards. 

Better vomit than blood, right? 

Still, she’s exhausted that evening when she calls up Oliver, who is at the park playing with Mia. He’s instantly attentive as he hears the fatigue in her voice and he’s quick to tell her he’ll go to the store for the fever reducer which she’s only just discovered they’re out of.

“Anything else I can pick up while we’re out?” 

“We?” 

“I’m going to bring Mia.” 

“Are you sure? I haven’t seen her all day and I’m sure she’s done her level best to wear you out.” 

“I’m sure; unless we want her to catch the same bug Lieu has and double our vomit quota.” 

At this Felicity winces and shakes her head.

“No, you’re right... Thank you. You’re amazing.” 

“Do we need anything else?” 

“Pedialyte? And maybe some Big Belly Burger? Or a pizza? I’m _ starving. _” 

“What about ‘Mom juice’? I think after a day like today you’ve earned some.” She can practically _ hear _the wink in his voice and she hums at the mere thought of getting to unwind with a glass of wine and her husband tonight.

“Tempting. But I don’t think ‘Mom Juice’ will help me prep for this meeting tomorrow,” she sighs and Oliver chuckles on the other end of the phone.

“Fair enough. Rain check; we’ll celebrate tomorrow night, after you’ve wowed the board.” 

“I’m going to hold you to that.” 

“I look forward to being held to it - and you.” For a moment they’re quiet, both basking in the obvious suggestiveness of his words and then, distantly, Felicity hears LT fussing from his bed. 

“Duty calls,” she murmurs, taking a steadying breath. “I love you,” she croons softly.

“I love you too,” Oliver returns in a voice equally soft; it’s his voice that he saves for her and the kids alone. She loves that voice. “We’ll be home with the meds and the pedialyte in a bit.”

“And some burgers!” Felicity adds right before they hang up and she just catches the sound of his laughter before the line goes dead.

She shoves her phone back into her pocket and goes to LT, who she spends the following twenty minutes bathing in cool water to bring down his fever. He’s still fussy and disgruntled and whining by the time she towels him dry and puts him in fresh pajamas, but he’s at least not quite as sweaty. Though, he continues to radiate heat while he snuggles against her on the couch. After she hits ‘Play’ on the third episode of the kids’ latest Disney obsession, Felicity starts to get a little worried that she hasn’t heard from Oliver by now. 

Also, she’s getting hangry. No good can come of having a sick three year old and a hangry wife; Oliver knows this by now. He wouldn’t tempt that.

Lucas has dozed off when her phone begins to vibrate and she pulls it from her pocket to see a number she doesn’t recognize. She slides off the couch stealthily, careful not to disrupt her son, and she paces over to the hall. She’s careful to keep her voice low and Lucas in her line of sight as she answers the phone.

“Hello?” 

“Is this Felicity Smoak-Queen?” It’s a woman’s voice, and one that feels oddly, _ distantly _ familiar. 

“This is she,” Felicity answers hesitantly, uncertain who would be calling her this late on a Thursday night. 

“Mrs. Smoak-Queen, this is Doctor Schwartz, down at Starling General.... I’m afraid there’s been an accident. It’s Oliver - and Mia.” 

✧✧✧✧✧

Felicity sprints into the hospital from the parking garage, a pale faced and sweaty Lucas clutched in her arms as she sweeps into the ER, wide eyed and heart racing. 

“I-I got a call, my husband and my daughter were brought in, they were in a car accident. The last name is Queen. Smoak-Queen,” she rambles to the woman behind the desk. She’s directed to a small, private waiting room where she paces frantically, humming softly to LT as she waits. 

By the time Doctor Schwartz joins them, Felicity has already invented a million worst case scenarios in her head. Somehow, the doctor’s version of events is both better and worse than anything Felicity could have imagined. 

“Oliver and Mia were involved in a head-on collision with a wrong way driver. The police already have the young man responsible in custody. It looks like he was intoxicated and veered into oncoming traffic, where he hit the vehicle Oliver and Mia were driving in,” she explains, and Felicity sinks into the nearest chair, her hands trembling as she tries to cradle her youngest child close. 

“A-Are they alright? Oliver and Mia… are they going to make it?” Felicity gasps and Doctor Schwartz lays a hand over one of hers with familiarity. 

“It’s too soon to know for sure the extent of their injuries. Mia… She’s in very critical condition at the moment. And Oliver is stable but serious as well. It’s a bit complicated…” 

Felicity swallows and looks down at Lucas Thomas, whose clear blue eyes look back at her with a mixture of fatigue and worry. She doesn’t want him to overhear the gruesome details, but there was no time to waste waiting on a sitter or calling up a friend. As soon as she got the call from the hospital, all Felicity could think to do was get in the car and drive, as fast as she possibly could. 

She sets Lieu up with his favorite stuffed animal and a fuzzy blanket. He’s tired enough that he’s content with this, and fusses only for a moment until she tells him she’s just going to be a few feet away and he can call her back at any time. 

Huddled in the corner with Doctor Schwartz, Felicity learns the full extent of the injuries her husband and daughter have endured. 

“From what we’ve been able to gather, Oliver didn’t wait for the ambulance to arrive on the scene; another vehicle pulled over to help them and he asked them to stay and give the police a statement while he borrowed their car to take Mia to the hospital. He got her here in record time and he carried her into the Emergency Room. I’m going to be honest with you, Mrs. Smoak-Queen; your daughter was in very dire straits when your husband carried her through those doors,” Felicity feels her throat close over as a silent sob rips through her but she fights to remain composed. For Lucas, if for nothing else. 

“Tell me everything,” she demands fiercely and the doctor studies her for a long beat, then nods. 

“From what we can tell, Mia has suffered several broken ribs. Her lungs have been badly impacted in the crash and she was barely breathing. At this point, we believe she may have a pulmonary contusion, based on what we’re seeing. She suffered some form of blunt force trauma to the head, so we don’t yet know if she suffered a concussion or anything more serious. Her right arm has a very severe break, so we’ll be addressing that once we’ve finished addressing her other,more urgent conditions.”

_ Her other more urgent conditions? _Felicity’s head is already swimming with the information she’s received and there’s more still to come? Tears spring to her eyes. This is her baby girl they’re talking about. Her daughter. The first child she carried in her womb. And that beautiful, sweet, fierce, fiery little creature is lying in a bed somewhere in this hospital, fighting for her life.

It’s too much. But Felicity doesn’t have the luxury of breaking down; instead, she hears out the doctor as she details the remaining concerns related to Mia’s prognosis.

“Based on her respiration rate and other indicators, we determined she had a hemothorax - essentially, blood was filling the space between her lungs and her chest, what we call the ‘pleural cavity’, and placing so much pressure on her lungs that she was struggling to get air. Given the nature of her injuries, I’m reluctant to take a surgical approach, because of the amount of strain that would place on her body. So instead, we’ve inserted a tube between the ribs and through the chest wall to hopefully drain the excess fluid and blood away and allow her to breathe. She’s going to be on oxygen as we continue to monitor her in the coming days. If that doesn’t work, we’ll be forced to do a thoracotomy surgery to correct the issue.” 

_ Surgery_. Felicity feels her stomach churn at the mere notion of her baby girl going under the knife. She’s so small, so vulnerable. It’s not right. 

“Now, Oliver is another matter,” Doctor Schwartz changes gears and Felicity sniffs but fights to maintain her composure. _ Oliver. _She hopes he’s in better shape than Mia. He was okay enough to carry their daughter into the hospital after the accident, but Felicity knows her husband well enough to know come hell or high water, he would endure any pain to protect their children. He could be on death’s doorstep and he would still find a way to come through for their kids. 

He’s just that extraordinary of a man and father. A hero, through and through.

“Oliver has a very serious depressed skull fracture - essentially, the bones in his skull have been indented by the force of the trauma he suffered in the accident. And they have indented inwards, towards his brain cavity. Now, sometimes these things can resolve on their own. But this type of fracture often doesn’t. He may require surgery if the fracture puts too much pressure on his brain. We’ll have to monitor him very closely in the coming days and weeks. The left side of his face appears to have been impacted in the accident and initial assessments are that he’s broken a number of bones that will require some facial reconstruction with a plastic surgeon. He may also have a pulmonary contusion, we’re still running some tests.” 

More surgeries. More severe injuries. More monitoring. Felicity struggles to breathe but nods, forcing herself to stay focused. 

“Can I see them?” 

She wants to hold them both so badly her arms are aching with yearning. Doctor Schwartz’s expression grows uneasy though and she bites her lower lip before she speaks. 

“There’s one more thing you need to know about Oliver…” 

All the air leaves the room as Doctor Schwartz explains the moments following Oliver and Mia’s arrival in the emergency room.

“When the doctors took Mia away to start working on her, her lips were turning blue. Oliver was frantic. He was crying and yelling that it was all his fault. He was blaming himself for the accident,” the doctor explains and Felicity feels her heart breaking.

Oliver has come a long way. But his first instinct has always been to blame himself. To an extent, they’ve been able to move past that but for something as extreme as this? She’s not surprised to hear him falling into old habits of self blame. 

No matter how far he’s come, some part of him will always be Atlas, carrying the weight of the heavens on his shoulders. 

“He seemed to think the accident had been caused intentionally. I told him the police already had the man in custody and that he was a suspected drunk driver, but he wouldn’t listen. He kept telling me that it was someone trying to get revenge on him for being the Green Arrow.” 

Felicity sucks in a surprised breath. _ Oh Oliver. _Unthinking, she sinks into the chair nearest her,

“He became so frantic, he wasn’t allowing the medical staff to examine him. He eventually collapsed but was still conscious. We gave him a sedative, because his blood pressure was through the roof and that is exactly the sort of thing we need to manage closely if we want to avoid the skull injury requiring surgery,” Doctor Schwartz does her best to break it all down into manageable pieces of information but Felicity is still drowning in the information overload. 

“Is he awake yet?” 

“No, not yet. I can bring you to see Mia first though, and I’ll let you know when Oliver starts waking up.” 

Relief sweeps through her then and Felicity nods agreeably. Without delay, she hastens to her son and scoops him into her arms before she follows the doctor through the hospital, up to the Intensive Care Unit. Mia is awake, though still sluggish from the sedative she received earlier, when the tube was placed through her ribs. Felicity nearly breaks into sobs at the sight of her daughter, bloodied and obviously worse for wear. This has been her and Oliver’s shared nightmare since the beginning. They’ve always wanted to protect their children. Felicity feels the cold claws of panic tighten around her throat as she recalls fighting Diaz to protect William. There’s no tangible monster to fight this time though.

There’s no protecting their family from this. Because this time, the ‘bad guy’ isn’t a bad guy - it’s just life. Life and its randomness, life and its cruel twists and turns of fate. Whatever Oliver may think, he’s not to blame. Felicity knows this to be true, deep in her bones. Her husband is an unparalleled father. If anything could be done to protect Mia, then Felicity knows with one hundred percent certainty that Oliver did it. 

She stays with her children late into the night; Doctor Schwartz turns a blind eye on this gross disregard for the rules regarding the hours of visitation in the ICU, for which Felicity is thankful. She is strong enough to endure many things, but leaving her baby girl alone in the ICU overnight on this night? That, she cannot do. 

It’s late, nearing midnight, before Doctor Schwartz comes to fetch her and informs her that Oliver is waking up. After being thoroughly reassured that LT and Mia will be fine and that she will leave a trusted nurse - Charity - to keep an eye on them, Felicity leaves her children - both sleeping somewhat restlessly in the hospital bed - and goes to her husband’s room across the way. 

There’s commotion coming from inside before they even arrive and as Felicity slips into the room behind Doctor Schwartz, she sees her husband struggling with a pair of interns and a nurse. 

“WHERE IS MY FATHER?” Oliver is roaring and his eyes are swinging about wildly. 

“He’s not here, Mister Queen,” one of the interns struggles to inform him.

“What happened to the yacht? Where am I?!”

“You’re at Starling General Hospital, Mister Queen.” 

“What yacht is he talking about? Not...Not _ that _yacht?” Doctor Schwartz asks Felicity incredulously and Felicity can only gape in disbelief. 

“There is no other yacht,” she confirms and the doctor looks at her in surprise. 

“Mister Queen, you were in an accident, you’re in the hospital now.” Doctor Schwartz recovers quickly and steps forward to speak with Oliver, who grows still as the doctor draws near. 

“An accident?” His eyes are dark and unknowing but as Felicity watches, she can see him struggling to piece things together. “I-I remember the storm. And the yacht taking on water,” he explains raggedly and Felicity feels faint. 

“Do you remember anything after that? Anything more recent?” Doctor Schwartz prods and Oliver seems to search his brain but eventually he shakes his head.

“No.” 

“What about this woman over here? Can you see her? Do you know who this is, Mister Queen?” Doctor Schwartz gestures to Felicity, who takes a hesitant step forward. Oliver studies her without recognition and then shakes his head again.

“I’ve never seen her before in my life.” 

For a long moment, their eyes lock and Felicity silently pleads for a spark of recognition to light up his gaze. But instead, only blank indifference meets her and she has to stifle the sob that rises up in her throat. 

He truly has no idea who she is. 

It’s about then that Felicity feels her legs turn to jelly and breathing becomes difficult. She excuses herself and steps into the hallway just in time to slide down the wall as she sinks to the floor. 

✧✧✧✧✧

“He’s stable for now but he doesn’t seem to remember anything that’s taken place since the Gambit sinking,” Doctor Schwartz explains to Felicity in an undertone just outside Mia’s hospital room. “We’ve sedated him and honestly, I doubt he’ll remember this episode. But this has brought to light some troubling new concerns.” Felicity presses a hand to her forehead and shakes her head in disbelief.

“How? How can this be? How does a person just… _ forget _eighteen years? How does someone forget three children? An entire marriage?” Her breathing comes in great gasps and she has to focus on steadying herself. 

She can’t spin out. She can’t. 

“Is it permanent? Is he… Did he damage something in the accident? Please. Tell me that my husband hasn’t permanently lost almost two decades of his life,” she pleads, tears welling in her eyes. Oliver has already lost so much. It isn’t fair for him to lose this. Not ever, but especially not now, when they’ve found such a happy rhythm in this little life of theirs. He’s _ happy_. Without caveats, without limitations, he’s free to live his life, free to simply _ be_. He’s retired, he hung up the hood and now he’s happily living the life of a stay at home dad and loving every second of it. That can’t have been taken from him in an instant. It just _ can’t. _

“It’s hard to know with any degree of certainty, but I’ve been consulting with our resident Psychologist. Based on the MRI images we’ve got of Oliver’s skull injury, the memory center of his brain doesn’t appear to have been impacted. Our best guess is that the trauma of the accident - namely, the trauma of seeing Mia so seriously injured - resulted in Oliver developing what we call ‘dissociative amnesia’. Now, when he first came into the ER with Mia he was pretty worked up and convinced the accident was a calculated attack against him because of him being the Green Arrow,” Doctor Schwartz explains with great delicacy and Felicity can sense that the hit is still coming. 

“As near as we can figure, Oliver has suppressed all the memories related to him becoming and being the Green Arrow. He’s reverted back to the time before that became his life. The good news is, we believe this can be reversed. Given time and therapy.” 

“So we get him in therapy. Whatever he needs, I don’t care what it costs.” 

“Felicity, it’s more complicated than that,” Doctor Schwartz comments faintly. “We can’t risk his blood pressure skyrocketing; his head injury is severe. Stressing him too much will be very dangerous to him for a while. We can’t tell him the truth yet. It’ll be too much for him to handle.” 

Her eyes slam shut, blocking the tears crowding her eyes and preventing them from flowing as freely as they are trying to do. _ Hold it together, Felicity. _

“So how do we help him remember?” 

“We play along with his memory of events. We let him continue to believe that it is 2007 and that he’s in here recovering from injuries he sustained in the yacht sinking. And we wait. At least until he’s recovered enough that we can risk telling him. Then we get him into therapy to help him process and hopefully, it will help him to remember.” 

Felicity nods along, her mind racing ahead. They will have to do a lot of legwork to make this believable. If they have to delay telling him the truth, they have to make him believe that it’s 2007. Fortunately, the televisions in the hospital look like they haven’t been updated since the early 2000s, so at least modern day tech won’t be an issue inside Oliver’s hospital room. 

“Okay. Umm. I’ll need to meet with the floor staff. We’ll need everyone to be consistent with their stories. And I’ll need to pull television reels from 2007 to play in his room in case he watches TV. And mirrors, we’ll have to take those out of his room or else he’ll figure out he isn’t twenty-two real quick - he looks good for forty, but not _ that _good…” Felicity trails off in her rambling aloud, running a hand through her hair as she tries to sort through the many details that will need to be dealt with to pull this off convincingly. A hand lights on her shoulder and she returns to the present with a soft sigh.

“We’ll take care of everything,” Doctor Schwartz assures her but Felicity isn’t there yet. She hasn’t mustered the strength to be courageously hopeful just yet. Maybe eventually she’ll get there. But for now? For now she needs to plan. To strategize. To organize. It’s the only way she’ll feel that she’s helping at all. And she _ has _to help. She cannot stand idly by while her husband is in this new, awful peril. 

“What am I supposed to tell our kids? William, he’s old enough to understand but the younger two? How do you tell a six year old and a three year old that their daddy is alive, but he doesn’t remember who they are?” 

“You tell them the truth. Or as close to it as you can bear.” 

The two women hold each other’s gaze for some time and Felicity finally sighs and nods, passing a hand over her face. 

“We’ll umm… We’ll make it a game; I’ll try and keep them out of the picture so that they don’t make a scene or say the wrong things. But I’ll tell them that Oliver got hurt in the accident and he doesn’t remember some things. So we have to play this game to help him remember. And in this game, they can’t call him ‘Daddy’ or act like they know him at all. We’re going to pretend like he’s a stranger. They can practice their stranger danger skills.”

She finds herself nodding along as she speaks and by the time she’s done, she heaves a sigh and squares her shoulders. None of this is easy. But it’s what needs to be done. And she will do it. For Oliver. For her family. 

Doctor Schwartz leaves Felicity to her work; she has the unenviable task of calling first William, then Thea, and lastly Diggle, to apprise them of the situation. Yes, it’s the middle of the night, but Felicity knows all three of them well enough to know they’d rather she call and wake them up than delay until the morning. Felicity manages to hold it together through her phone call with William, which is nothing short of a miracle; of all her children, William is the only one old enough for her to level with. And when he asks her how she’s doing, she very nearly breaks down.

How’s she doing? She can barely breathe. She can’t think. She can’t even fathom sleep, though she’s utterly spent. Every fiber of her being aches. Oliver has been lost to her for less than a day and already she misses him so deeply. There is a massive, Oliver sized hole in her heart that will not be filled until he returns to her, to their family. She wants to crawl into their bed at home and cry until she has no tears left in her.

How is she doing? She’s breaking. But she doesn’t have the luxury of staying broken; as mothers know, it’s self second, children first. And that is where her focus must lie. Felicity cannot do anything for Oliver but prepare and wait and _ hope_. But she can tend to their children and quiet their fears. So that is what she focuses on. 

Thea offers to fly back to Star City to be there for Felicity and Oliver; gently, Felicity reminds Thea that Oliver now believes her to be twelve years old, so while Thea is most welcome to come see the rest of the family, it’s imperative she not visit Oliver in person. Instead, Felicity devises a clever ploy wherein Thea can call Oliver on the phone; Felicity can whip up a voice modulator that will (hopefully) make her sound like a kid again. She can claim that she’s sick to explain her absence - surely the doctors wouldn’t want a sick visitor entering the ICU. It’s far from ideal but then again, nothing about this situation is. 

Diggle is a source of instant strength; he reminds her of all that Oliver has endured and survived up to this point. According to John, if _ anyone _in the universe is equipped to handle the latest hurdle life has thrown him, it is Oliver Queen. And, Diggle reminds her gently, the love that she and Oliver share is bigger than anything life throws their way. Even memory loss. Even if it meant having to fall in love with each other all over again - their love is big enough to see them through. After everything that she and Oliver have endured, there is nothing so great that their love cannot rise above it, Diggle reminds her. He also reminds her that he can be to the hospital anytime she needs him - an offer which she appreciates but for now, holds off on. 

It’s reassuring in the extreme, to have Diggle voicing his support in her ear. And though she wants to let go of her fear and simply trust that all will be well, Felicity cannot forget one very important thing: the reason that she and Oliver have survived everything that they have? It’s because neither of them will ever give up. They never stop fighting for each other. Now is no time to rest on her prior accolades. Now is the time for her to knuckle down and _ fight _ for the man that she loves. And she’s going to fight like she’s never fought before. She just has to figure out _ how, _given that, at age twenty two, Oliver had never met her. He has no idea who she is. That makes it a little harder to jog his memory. 

When Felicity hangs up with Diggle, she realizes a more distressing thought; Oliver will be soon clamoring for people he _ does _ remember. Namely, his family and friends circa 2007. And while Thea can pull off a phone call, the rest of the people Oliver would likely wish to see and speak with are... _ dead_. It’s a jarring thought. 

How is Felicity going to explain the fiercely protective Moira Queen being absent from her son’s side in his hour of need? Felicity barely spent time with the woman but even she knows that come hell or high water, Moira Queen would find a way to be at Oliver’s side in such a situation as this. But Moira Queen is dead and believable excuses for her absence are remarkably thin. As Felicity tries to come up with something, the one idea she lands on is that Moira Queen’s love for her children could, in this instance, perhaps also be her greatest weakness; what if the news of Oliver’s presumed death was enough to drive Moira to need intensive grief counseling? It’s a stretch, Felicity knows, but their options are limited. Perhaps they can skate by saying that Moira has been committed as she tries to grapple with her profound grief over the loss of her husband and the near death of her son. 

Who else might her husband inquire after? Oliver might want to see Laurel but Earth 1’s Laurel has been gone for some time now. Even assuming she could get Earth 2 Laurel to swing by, Felicity has no way of explaining for or hiding the fact that Laurel is in her 40s and not in her 20s as Oliver remembers. If he asks to see her and push comes to shove, Felicity can possibly convince Earth 2 Laurel to answer a phone call; fortunately, Earth 2’s Laurel has no problem being terse and brief with Oliver, and based on what Felicity knows of Laurel and Oliver’s tense relationship when he first came back from the island… That might work. But she’ll only explore that avenue if she needs to - contacting another Earth is something she’d really rather not do.

They’re out of the game, after all and have been for a number of years now, blissfully living out their ‘retirement’. And that means jumping Earths is something they try their best to avoid these days.

The issue of Tommy is another matter entirely. Felicity is toying with the idea of saying he’s out of the country but she knows from Oliver’s stories of his childhood best friend that not time nor distance could keep them apart. She’ll need a better excuse. It’s then that she thinks of something completely ridiculous. Perhaps she can pull some strings and get Tommy to show up for a visit after all.

As she mentally reviews her list, Felicity can’t help but feel overwhelmed. There’s so much to do and there’s no guarantee any of it will convince Oliver, or help him to remember. But what choice does she have? She’s not about to stand by and watch her husband disappear from their lives.

She promised him once that wherever he went, she would find him. That’s as true today as it was then. Felicity is going to get Oliver back, come what may.


	10. Chapter 10

In the morning, Felicity wakes slowly; she stayed up late into the night coaching all the shifts of hospital staff on what to say and how to behave around Oliver during this delicate time. As her senses gradually return to her, she blinks and bit by bit the darkened hospital room comes into focus; Mia is lying in her hospital bed, Lucas tucked at her side. Felicity has slept in one of the hard plastic hospital chairs, leaning forward so her head and torso rest on the foot of Mia’s bed. Though, sleep is perhaps a bit generous for what she’s managed - a few paltry moments of sleep stolen here and there, no more than two or three hours all told.

Already though, her back is painfully stiff and she can feel a crick in her neck from how she’s spent the night but Felicity has no regrets; leaving her daughter and husband alone in the hospital is simply not an option. As she yawns and wakes still further, she realizes that someone else is in the hospital room with them. 

“Doctor Schwartz?” Felicity murmurs sleepily and the woman in question steps forward hesitantly. 

“I wanted to let you know that Oliver? He’s coming out of the sedative he’s been under. When he wakes up in full, we’re going to begin telling him some of what we discussed.” 

At this Felicity nods, even as her breathing starts going haywire. Honesty… Honesty is a point of pride between herself and Oliver. They’ve come a long way from their early days of bullet riddled laptops with cover stories of coffee shops in bad neighborhoods. Lying to him - however well intentioned the lies might be - feels wrong. But if it helps to save him from himself? What other choice does she have? 

Still. It leaves a sour taste in her mouth to be orchestrating such grandiose lies behind his back. 

“What can I do?” Felicity murmurs sleepily and at this, Doctor Schwartz smiles and shakes her head. 

“You’ve done plenty. Just focus on taking care of your kids; my team and I will take care of Oliver. I know it’s easy for me to say but I’m going to tell you this at least once; don’t make yourself sick worrying about this. That won’t help anyone.” 

At this, Felicity chuckles.

“I’m a mother of three and the wife of the former freaking Green Arrow, Doctor Schwartz; worry is in my bones.” 

She doesn’t go back to sleep after Doctor Schwartz leaves; instead, Felicity prowls the all too sterile hospital room, waiting for her children to wake. She texts with William, who’s getting into town later today, and she asks him to stop by the house to pick up some things to make Mia’s room more homey. 

Blankets. Stuffed animals. Pillows. Toys. Books. She asks for them all. But most importantly? She asks him to bring a forest’s worth of blank sheets of paper and a fresh box of crayons. Already, Mia’s clamoring for something to do while stuck in her hospital bed and between Mia and Lucas, Felicity’s at her wits end.

Coloring. Coloring is safe. And quiet. And keeps both her children from doing something to hurt themselves or to obliterate the tenuous grip Felicity has on her sanity. 

But five minutes into coloring, Mia’s getting fussy; her broken arm is her dominant hand and it’s definitely cramping her drawing style. She can hardly hold the crayon and when she does, her ability to color has been frightfully impacted. The way she screeches in dismay, you’d swear the kid has gone from prodigy to cretin. Admittedly, her coloring skills have taken a hit; what Felicity doesn’t tell Mia as she tries to calm her is that, really? There’s not _ that _much of a difference. 

She knows that sort of feedback would not be well received. So instead, she tries to encourage Mia to use her left hand to color. However, the results are somewhat worse than her attempts at using her right hand. 

“IT’S TERRIBLE!” Mia howls angrily. 

“It’s not bad, Mia. You just have to keep practicing and you’ll get better!” 

“I don’t WANT to! I wanna color with my other hand!” Mia whimpers in complaint and Felicity tries to comfort her the best way she can; Mia doesn’t like empty compliments and pats on the back. She likes tangibles and facts. 

“You know, some people would pay a LOT of money for art like that,” Felicity informs her daughter. Mia just scowls up at her though, convinced she’s being lied to.

“You’re lying!” 

“I am not! It’s true. It’s called ‘Abstract Art’ and people pay a lot of money for it.” 

“How much money?” Mia’s wary and guarded but also intrigued, Felicity can tell. 

“More than a whole year of your allowance.” 

Which admittedly, isn’t much. But in little kid terms? Felicity knows that this is a serious indicator of economic kid wealth. Mia’s mouth hangs open in surprise, then clamps shut. 

“No way,” she sneers, shaking her head disagreeably. “That’s ridic’lous.” She announces haughtily, and Felicity masks a snort of laughter by feigning a cough. “I’m not drawing no more, Mama.” Mia informs her and Felicity can only sigh and run a hand through her hair wearily. 

She’ll have to find another way of occupying the kids, it would seem.

The day unfolds in fits and starts. The children cry when she explains they can’t see Daddy and that they will have to play a game where they pretend not to know him for a while. Their tears cut her to the quick but Felicity stays firm in the face of their protests. It is only when she explains that they have to pretend to help Daddy’s head get better that Mia finally seems to accept this, however disgruntled she is about not getting to be with her father. Felicity tries to divert their attention from this gloomy news with other fun (calm) things to do in the room. Her attempts, however, do not particularly work. Lucas is feeling better and has endless energy, Mia is sour tempered and short. Somewhere between quieting Mia’s angry howling and trying to prevent Lucas from pulling Mia’s IV stand down, Felicity remembers that in all this chaos, she hasn’t let anyone at work know where she is or what’s happened. 

Her board meeting was scheduled for fifteen minutes ago. It feels like a lifetime ago that her biggest problem was juggling a vomiting three year old while reading some notecards to prep. She desperately wishes she could go back to that moment and prevent everything that’s followed after. But there’s no going back, no changing this outcome. There’s only her and her bouncing off the wall kids, and her amnesiac husband. 

Frack. She’s woefully outmatched. 

Mia and Lucas both are pacified when Felicity manages to get their favorite cartoon playing on the room TV. The pair cozy up together in Mia’s bed and Felicity gets an update that Oliver is slowly coming out of his medically induced coma; they anticipate him being awake by tomorrow. It’s about as positive an update as she can hope for at this point, so Felicity lets herself relax just a little. Despite everything, maybe, _ just maybe_, things are starting to even out. Mia is stable. Oliver is stable. Now they both just need time to heal and relax and the Smoak-Queen family can start to move on and put this whole dreadful ordeal behind them. 

Sitting in the chair at her daughter’s bedside, Felicity feels herself starting to nod off; she’s utterly exhausted by the last twenty four hours, she’s only stolen a couple hours of sleep, and she’s beyond stressed. The quiet sense of calm that’s blanketed Mia’s room is a welcome reprieve.

She’s only been asleep a half hour, maybe forty five minutes, before the door to Mia’s room flies open with a _ BANG _that startles Felicity awake. Her eyes fly open in time to see a cavalcade of nurses and doctors swarm the room and instantly, panic explodes within her. 

“What’s going on?! What’s happening?” 

The hospital staff brings in a gurney and one nurse hands Lucas off to Felicity; he’s red faced and crying when presented with so many strangers and such commotion waking him from his nap. Mia, however, is perfectly still and it is this fact which sends Felicity spiraling into terror. 

“Someone tell me what is going on?!” 

“Mia’s blood pressure is bottoming out and her oxygen levels are dangerously low; the blood filling her chest cavity isn’t being diverted effectively enough by the chest tube. She’s losing too much blood and not getting enough oxygen. We need to take her into surgery - _ now.” _

Felicity feels the cold claws of horror and dread digging deep into her as the hospital staff whisks Mia onto a gurney and, as Felicity watches, paralyzed with fear, they rush the barely breathing six year old from the room. She is utterly powerless to help her daughter, her baby girl, her firstborn. 

She’s powerless to help her husband. She’s powerless to help her daughter. What kind of wife and mother is she? Felicity very nearly sinks to the floor in tears at the thought; it is only the solid weight of Lucas in her arms that stops her. 

And just like that, the fragile sense of hope that Felicity has been nurturing is completely and utterly destroyed. 

✧✧✧✧✧

Felicity is close to her breaking point. She’s trying, _ how she is trying, _to be strong. But when faced with the sight of her daughter post-op, Felicity can barely hold it together. Mia’s so small and she’s engulfed with machines and wires and tubes. And the medical jargon is straining her comprehension which truly, is saying something.

“The thoracotomy surgery we performed on Mia was a success; we were able to remove the blood clots and the pooling blood and fluid from her chest cavity. The chest tube we have in place in her side should help to drain the fluid that will continue to collect for the next few days,” Doctor Schwartz explains to Felicity in the doorway of Mia’s room; Felicity can’t bear to stray any farther than that from her daughter.

She needs to keep her in her sights. She dozed off _ once _for less than an hour in the night and Mia crashed. Felicity’s mama bear instincts are in full swing and she’s determined not to miss any details or overlook any signs or symptoms. 

“We’ll have to run tests on the fluid that drains from her chest; it’s called pleural analysis. She’s got that endotracheal tube in her throat right now because we’ve got her on a ventilator. The machine is breathing for her; it’s not because she can’t on her own - she can. But the machine can regulate her breathing and ease her lungs back into normal function.”

The very fact that her daughter is not breathing on her own is nearly enough to wreck Felicity. Even though Doctor Schwartz is trying to reassure her that Mia _ can _ breathe unassisted, the reality that she _ isn’t _presently is a hard pill to swallow. This is Mia. Her bouncing ball of energy, who was just at the park playing like a wild child with Oliver to burn off energy. And now she isn’t even breathing for herself.

“After a day or so, we can discuss removing her from the ventilator. She’ll get lots of IV fluids as well as a round the clock antibiotic treatment plan. Infections post-op are common with surgeries like this and we’ll want to get out ahead of anything if we possibly can.” 

Ventilators. Fluids. Antibiotics. Infections. Felicity’s head is positively spinning. This is her baby girl and already she resembles a human pincushion. How much more trauma is she going to have to endure?

“We’re going to get additional x-ray images of her chest and I’ll be requesting an EKG just to ensure that her heart is functioning the way we’d like it to. Mia also received a number of blood transfusions during the surgery, so we will need to monitor her for any signs of a negative reaction to the transfusions,” the doctor pauses and takes in Felicity. Whatever she sees must concern her.

“Felicity? I know this is a lot. But this is what we deal with every day. This is an extraordinarily awful day for you. But this is our typical work shift - we see and deal with these things all the time. We know what we’re doing and we’re going to watch her like a hawk until she’s better. You have my word. If any kid can pull through this, it’s her. She’s a strong little girl - just like her parents.” 

Like her parents? Try like _ Oliver. _Strong is the farthest thing from what Felicity feels right now. 

William shows up at the hospital with the requested goodies and his arrival nearly sends Felicity into an emotional tailspin because it is _ such _a relief to have him here. With Oliver off limits and Mia still sedated, William’s not able to do much in the way of visiting with the hospitalized pair but the kid does wonders for Felicity’s flagging spirits. A little conversation and a warm hug from her oldest helps Felicity to refocus and discipline her emotions. Oliver is an expert at compartmentalizing but Felicity? She’s… less so. Still, she does what she must. 

William is kind enough to offer to take Lucas home. Felicity is reluctant to be parted from any of her children, but she recognizes that being cooped up in the hospital with his ill sister may not be what’s best for Lucas - or Mia, for that matter. The two tend to rile each other up and there’s precious little to hold the three year old’s attention that will also keep him still and quiet. 

Besides, William offering to take on babysitting responsibilities for his three year old brother? That’s no small offer. Felicity gratefully accepts and after plastering both boys with countless kisses, she collapses into the chair at Mia’s bedside, now made more bearable thanks to the pillows and blankets William has brought from the house. 

How many hours has she been awake? She’s dozed off here and there, sure, but she hasn’t had a proper night’s sleep in how long? 

Frack. Best not to dwell on that. 

Quietly, Felicity moves her chair so that she is as close to Mia’s bedside as she can reasonably be. She uses the second chair in the room as a footrest and then, carefully, she reaches up towards the bed and slips one of her hands through one of Mia’s. 

No matter what, she won’t let her daughter be alone in all of this. It’s bad enough that Oliver is on an island of his brain’s own creation; she won’t allow two of her loved ones to suffer in solitude. 

✧✧✧✧✧

The next day begins with Mia being removed from the ventilator. When she finally begins to wake, Felicity is at her daughter’s side, holding her hand. Her heart nearly shatters when Mia begins whimpering and telling Felicity that ‘it hurts’.

‘It’ turns out to be ‘everything’; she doesn’t like the compression socks that the doctors have her wearing to mitigate the risk of blood clots. She fusses with the IV in her arm, she cries about the chest tube in her side, and she quietly confesses to Felicity that it hurts to breathe. Her incision site hurts, her head hurts, her sides hurt - and though Felicity hounds the medical team for pain management solutions (and they readily work to remedy the situation) every passing moment that Mia is in pain is like a knife through Felicity’s heart. 

By the time that Doctor Schwartz arrives at the room with an update on Oliver, it’s only late morning and Felicity is already on the verge of emotional collapse. Seeing her daughter in agony is worse than anything else Felicity has ever experienced.

And that includes two separate, very long, very painful labors with Mia and Lucas, two separate incidents of being shot, and numerous instances of nearly being killed by lunatic madmen (and women!) over the years with Team Arrow. But none of that compares to this. 

“So he’s awake?” Felicity murmurs as she leans against the doorway, glancing back at Mia constantly; her little warrior princess is awake but only in the loosest definition of the word; she’s pretty groggy between the pain meds and her own fatigue and Felicity isn’t sure Mia can even hear or see them right now. 

They’ve given her the good drugs. Which is precisely what Mia needs to avoid feeling like she’s drowning in pain. 

“Yes. He’s awake. And he’s been mostly compliant. He’s requested pain medicine, which we’ve provided. He’s asked a few questions but I think being told about the yacht was a lot for him to take in, so he’s processing that.” 

Felicity buries her face in her hands, struggling to fight the urge to run across the ICU floor and go to him. All of her instincts are screaming at her to be with him, to talk to him and _ make him remember. _But even if he would believe her - and she very much doubts that he would - that kind of news requires a more delicate touch. And if anyone is going to deliver it at this point, Felicity almost thinks it should come from Thea. Sure, she’s eighteen years older than the age Oliver believes her to be, but she’s still a familiar face. A face whose age will act as proof positive that what she’s saying is real.

For all Oliver knows, Felicity is a stranger. And until he gives her a reason to hope that things might be changing, a stranger is what she will have to stay. 

“What can I do for him?” Felicity asks the doctor earnestly and the brunette shakes her head. 

“Nothing, Felicity. Like I’ve said, this is going to take time and therapy to fix. We’ll figure something out but for now? You can’t go confusing him by telling him the truth. It’ll stress him out and wreak havoc on his brain’s healing process.”

“How am I just supposed to sit here and twiddle my thumbs while my husband is struggling to remember the entirety of our lives together? Can’t I do something? Bring familiar items from home? Familiar smells? Blankets? Pictures? Something?! Please, Doctor Schwartz. I already feel like I’ve let Mia down. I don’t want to let Oliver down too.” 

“You haven’t let either of them down. If you want to bring in a scent, we can maybe do that. But I think we’ll have to pass on the blankets and pictures. Baby steps, Felicity. His memories aren’t gone. They’ll find their way back. But until then, we need to give him the time to heal.” 

“I just want to help him remember.” 

“I know. But his memories will come back eventually. Until then, we’ll do our best to help him fill in the blanks in his memory. We just have to be careful not to cross any lines.”

➷➷➷➷➷

Everything seems real funny. Like the one time she went to the dentist’s office and he put a mask on her face and all the lights got real shiny n’ bright n’ stuff. That’s how the hospital room seems now to Mia. The lights all got weird looks to ‘em. They all got little halos around ‘em. Kinda like the halos angels wear but these halos are fuzzier. 

Her tongue feels weird. Real heavy. And fuzzy. Like a peach! 

Mia stares off into space as her Mama and the Doctor talk by the door. At first she can’t hear and usually the doctor only has boring stuff to say anyway, so she doesn’t listen that hard. But ‘ventually she gets bored of lookin’ at the walls (they’re real empty. No colorings on the walls, not like at home where Mama hangs up her art) and instead, Mia looks over at her Mama and Doctor Schwartz. They’re talkin’ real secret like and Mia does her best to listen.

If she’s real quiet, she can hear ‘em. Which is good - listenin’ is real important for being spies. And she’s gonna be a spy someday. Or a hero. She’d like that. She could shoot a bow and arrows just like her Daddy! But to do that, she’s gotta be good at being quiet too. Heroes gotta sneak.

So Mia’s quiet. Real quiet. And when her Mama turns to look at her, Mia doesn’t say anything - not _ one _thing! And she holds real still. She even holds her breath to make sure she’s not breathin’ too loud. 

That’s when she hears Doctor Schwartz say somethin’. ‘Bout Daddy’s recovery. Mia cranes forward to listen until she remembers, she’s s’posed to be _ sneaking. _She stops movin’ as she thinks ‘bout this important information and then she holds as still as she can while Mama and the doctor talk. 

She hears the doctor talk ‘bout fillin’ in the blanks in Daddy’s memory. Right away, Mia gets excited. Fill in the blanks? That sounds like a… like a paint by number! She’s real good at those! She doesn’t got paints here, but Mama brought crayons! 

Mia can help her Daddy to remember!

But then Mia hears Doctor Schwartz say they can’t cross lines. Uh oh. She’s no good at colorin’ right now with her bad hand. What if she crosses lines in a coloring book? She doesn’t want to make Daddy’s head hurt more!

But wait. Mama brought blank papers for coloring too!

If all they gotsa do is fill in the blanks, Mia can start workin’ right now! She’ll color all day to help Daddy remember! She can draw him playin’ in the park! She can draw him swinging her on the swings, or throwing the frisbee, or sliding down the slides!

Her coloring’s not the best. But she’ll practice if it helps Daddy. She steals another peek at Mama and Doctor Schwartz. They’re still talking by the door. Mama looks worried. She’s tryin’ not to let Mia see it though. She can tell. Mama’s not a good sneaker though. Daddy’s better, that’s why he’s always plannin’ surprise parties for Mama’s birthday or for good stuff at work. But Mama isn’t sneaky like him for that stuff and she’s not as sneaky as she thinks she is now either. 

Mia can see her Mama’s face has the little lines she gets when she’s worried or upset and without asking, she knows. Mama’s worried ‘bout Daddy. But that’s okay. Mia’s got a plan. She’s gonna fill in the blanks and color him _ allll _ the things. 

Mama said Mia’s colorings were abstrax art. And people paid a lot for them. Maybe that’s ‘cause art like that can fill in blanks for people like Daddy with hurted heads! Maybe, _ maybe _ she can help Daddy get better! She’ll be real careful not to say anythin’ to him she’s not s’posed to. Mama said to pretend he’s a stranger and practice _ Stranger Danger_. Mia won’t tell Daddy her name or call him Daddy neither. She’s just gonna help color his mem’ries back into his head! 

Mia smiles at this and closes her eyes as she settles back against the pillows. She knows Daddy’s in the hospital. Mama said he was. She’ll go find him, a little later. When Mama’s not awake and watchin’ her and keepin’ her still. Maybe if Mama takes a nap, Mia can go find Daddy and start colorin’ for him. 

She’s gonna fill his memory blanks back in so fast! 

✧✧✧✧✧

By the next day, Felicity feels utterly spent. 

She’s programmed Oliver’s room television to only play reels from the time period he believes he’s in. Which was no small feat, thank you - even in the late 2000’s there was _ seriously _ not enough digital backing up of files. Oye. She’s talked with Thea and together, they’ve coordinated a plan for Thea to call Oliver tomorrow and Felicity has given her the modulator that, indeed, scrambles Thea’s voice to sound younger. Felicity’s managed to keep up with her kids despite having next to no sleep and even less caffeine, and she’s miraculously managed to keep everyone as happy and (relatively) healthy as can be expected, all things considered. She’s rescheduled the board meeting, passed off her work duties to Alena as much as possible. Amidst it all, Felicity has found time to catch up with William and get the rundown on his college classes and the guy he’s been on three ( _ three!!!) _dates with. She’s even touched base with Digg and given him the latest updates on Mia and Oliver. 

She’s done a lot. But it feels like a drop in the bucket. Because Oliver still doesn’t remember. 

Felicity steps into the small bathroom attached to Mia’s room while the nurse is in checking on her and removing her from her IV fluids and some of her machines (she’s stabilized enough that she doesn’t need them round the clock, it seems). When she closes the door behind her, all is well; Mia is with the nurse and chatting animatedly. 

Felicity seizes on the opportunity to wash her face, run a brush through her hair and a toothbrush over her teeth, and reapply deodorant, all in addition to actually using the restroom. When she steps out a little while later, she feels reasonably refreshed - almost human, in fact - and ready for whatever the coming hours hold. 

What she’s not ready for is to walk out into an empty hospital room, Mia’s sensors casually discarded and the plucky kid herself nowhere to be found. The nurse isn’t in sight and Felicity’s heart rate skyrockets. 

Dear god. Where is Mia?!

She tears through the room and does a cursory search of the small space at breakneck speed. But Mia seems to have vanished; there’s not a trace left behind to indicate where she’s gone. Felicity doesn’t bother hitting the ‘Call Nurse’ button - she races out to the nursing station. Thunderheads are building in her eyes and terror and anger are warring within her but when she arrives, all the nurses look positively overjoyed - and Doctor Schwartz is among them, looking pleasantly bemused. 

“Doctor Schwartz?! Mia’s gone. Please tell me that one of your staff has her?!” Felicity chokes out, the words turning to ash on her tongue. She’s kicking herself because what was she thinking, leaving Mia unattended?! This is what she gets. Five minutes is a lifetime. Mia could crash a dozen times in that span of time. 

But instead of assuming her usual doctorly demeanor, Doctor Schwartz ushers Felicity over and speaks in a lilting, conspiratorial whisper. 

“Mia snuck out after her vitals were finished being taken. We knew something was going on, because when she removed the sensors, it set off alarms at the nurse’s station. But before we could investigate, out came Mia, scooting along on the floor and humming. She peeked into every room between hers and Oliver’s. And once she found his she just went scooting right inside.” 

“What?! What about not crossing lines, and giving him time? This… This is not that!” 

“It’s not, admittedly. But we’ve been eavesdropping on them. So far he’s being prickly and passive aggressive, but not downright aggressive. She’s refused to give him her name though. She told him to call her ‘Bee’. Any idea why?” 

Felicity’s mind is all a flutter with this news and while Doctor Schwartz seems relaxed about this new development, Felicity is anything but. She trusts Oliver implicitly with their children; one would be hard pressed to find a better, more capable father anywhere. But Oliver- _ her _Oliver? That’s not who’s in that hospital room with Mia right now. Right now, the Oliver of eighteen years ago is with Mia - and that Oliver? Well, he’s far less ‘Oliver’ and far more ‘Ollie’. And Ollie? He’s not a person Felicity would entrust her children to while healthy - let alone while in the hospital and recovering from major surgery. 

“I’m sorry, I see that everyone’s being so sanguine about this and I get that I’m especially prone to freaking out right now, but shouldn’t we be concerned that Mia has no sensors monitoring her right now? And she’s running around the hospital with a head injury, among other things? Aren’t we afraid of her overdoing it here? Of her hurting herself worse?! Or...or infection? Not to mention she could slip up and call him ‘Daddy’ and there goes Oliver’s blood pressure, hello brain surgery!” 

At this, Doctor Schwartz grows a little more serious and turns away from watching Oliver’s door like a hawk. 

“I recognize this is rather unorthodox. But for one, Mia should be moving - moving is actually very good for her as she heals from her surgery. It’ll help us prevent more clots from forming. We’ve got a nurse listening in on the other side of the door so if things go south, she can intervene. I understand why you’re feeling protective of Mia - and you have every right to - but this… this might be better than you bringing in a smell or a blanket to jog his memory, Felicity. This might help Oliver remember far faster than any of those things would.” 

“And ordinarily I would be on board for trying anything that would bring him back to us sooner. But… I can’t risk my daughter for that. I know Oliver wouldn’t want me to. And… I couldn’t bear it if something happened to her because she wasn’t in her hospital room where she belongs.” 

“Felicity, if you absolutely want her out of there, we can go and bring her out. But I’m telling you right now that there’s no medical reason why she _ has _ to go. But judging from the grin on her face when she went in there? There might be some pretty big medical reasons to let her stay.” 

Before Felicity can voice an opinion one way or the other though, Mia herself comes scooting out of Oliver’s room. And the look on her face? Why… She’s the cat that ate the canary. As Felicity watches, Mia skedaddles through the hospital confidently. And though she’s definitely moving a little gingerly, there’s an unmistakable pep in her step as she goes. 

Felicity doesn’t linger to talk with the hospital staff; she makes a beeline for her daughter’s room and when she arrives, Mia’s already back in her bed and has cleverly clipped her finger sensor back on.

Felicity isn’t sure whether to marvel or bemoan her daughter’s delinquent skills. But given who the girl’s father is, she can’t claim never to have seen this coming. Of course the kid’s got skills at breaking out and sneaking around. She is her father’s daughter, through and through. 

“Hey sweets,” Felicity murmurs as she closes the door to the room behind her. She leans against it for a moment, taking in the scene, and then she walks forward, trying for nonchalance. 

“So where did you go, kiddo?” Felicity inquires innocently. Instantly, Mia’s face lights up and she does an absolutely appalling job at hiding her glee. Just like her dad, she sucks her lips in, making the same, goofy expression that Oliver always makes anytime he’s trying to pull one over on her (and failing miserably; he’s never as sneaky as he thinks he is when it comes to good surprises).

“For a walk,” Mia chirps innocently and Felicity can’t hold back a snort.

“Oh really. Don’t you think you should have asked first? Remember how we talked about how you had a lot of owwies we needed to be careful with?” 

At this Mia frowns and nods, wringing her little hands before her as she searches for an adequate response. 

“I’m sorry, Mama. I’ll ask next time.”

Felicity bites her lower lip at this and moves deeper into the hospital room, toying with her wedding band as she goes. 

“What did you do on your walk, Mia?” 

“I went ‘sploring.” 

Exploring huh? Yeah. Uh huh. Felicity narrowly avoids rolling her eyes and smiling at her little rogue daughter. Talk about the apple not falling far from the tree. 

“Exploring huh?” Mia’s answering nod is rather chipper. And then, unprompted she pipes up again.

“I was fillin’ in blanks. It’s real important stuffs, Mama.” 

With a jolt, Felicity recalls Doctor Schwartz’s earlier words, about Oliver needing help filling in the blanks. She’d thought Mia was too out of it to really hear the conversation; clearly that wasn’t entirely the case. 

“How are you going to fill in blanks, Mia?” Felicity presses her daughter for more details. Mia just shrugs, too busy retrieving a crayon from her box before she begins scribbling awkwardly with her left hand. 

“I’m not gonna use a coloring book, Mama. If I don’t use a coloring book, there isn’t no lines to cross! I can color however I want and fill in the blanks!” Mia beams and Felicity can only gawk at her daughter in open mouthed wonder. 

What sort of little guardian angel is her pint sized peanut, to be tackling her father’s memory loss head on like this? And how can Felicity put a stop to it when Mia’s wearing a smile and coloring contentedly instead of whimpering in pain and looking scared and lost? 

It goes against all her protective, motherly instincts - which are admittedly in hyper drive - but Felicity is actually considering this - completely ludicrous - approach. After telling Mia she’ll be right back, Felicity ducks into the hall, though she keeps one hand on Mia’s door. After all, she just lost her daughter after venturing to the bathroom for five minutes - she’s not about to leave the little squirt completely unattended so soon. 

She catches Doctor Schwartz’s eye and the brunette hurries over, contrition in her eyes. Before the doctor can say a word though, Felicity interjects. 

“If we’re going to do this, someone has to always be monitoring them. If he behaves in a way that upsets her or does anything to put her in an unsafe position, the visits stop immediately. If either of them seems to be worse off for these little visits? They stop. If either of them starts to become agitated, the-”

“-visits stop. I understand.” Doctor Schwartz nods agreeably, trying to contain the joy that Felicity can already see radiating off of her. 

“It was her first Halloween costume,” Felicity says with a sigh and at this, the doctor looks at her, plainly puzzled.

“I’m sorry?” 

“A bumblebee. It was Mia’s costume for her first Halloween. Ever since then, Oliver’s always called her his Little Bumblebee, or his Best Bee,” Felicity explains gently, emotion thick in her voice. “That’s why she told him that was what he could call her. Because it’s what he’s always called her. For as long as she can remember, she’s always been his little Bee.” 


	11. Chapter 11

Mia sneaking out to go to Oliver’s room becomes a regular occurrence. And though Felicity’s heart is in her throat every time Mia unclips herself from her monitors and goes scurrying off, there’s no denying that the visits put her in a tremendously good mood. Every time she comes back from visiting Oliver, Mia’s positively chipper; she’s quick to color, despite her frustration with her reduced capabilities when drawing left handed. She is animated in cryptically relaying tidbits of her visits with Oliver to Felicity, though Mia is careful never to reveal that it is, in fact, Oliver who she is sneaking off to visit.

Felicity can scarcely look at her husband’s hospital room door without feeling her heart leap into her throat. All she wants is to go to him; he’s so close and yet so far. It’s unfair that he can be lying there, so close, and yet feel like he’s miles away. She wants to comfort him. She wants to hold him. And not in a sexual way - though if she’s being honest, she misses that too - but in the comforting, reassuring, platonic way that has long been a way of communicating their support for one another. 

She misses her partner. She misses her friend. She misses her husband. She misses the father of her children. She misses her soulmate. She misses _ Oliver. _

But the day Mia comes in and begins to recount the story that ‘her friend Grumpy Guy’ has told her? Felicity finds herself out the door and at the nurse’s station, flagging down Doctor Schwartz and dragging her back to Mia’s room. 

As Mia retells the day’s events to both her mother, the doctor, and Lieutenant, Felicity feels her stomach twist and turn anxiously. But while Felicity is aglow with hope, Doctor Schwartz is rather subdued. 

“I don’t want you to get your hopes up,” she gently informs Felicity a few minutes later. 

“How could I not? Doctor Schwartz, he’s telling her _ his _story! That has to be a sign that he’s remembering, right? I mean, he can’t just be making this up, can he?!” 

“I’m sure it’s a distant, latent memory to him that he’s tapping into, unconsciously. But this doesn’t mean he’s really remembering - he still doesn’t recognize Mia, after all.” 

At this, Felicity practically deflates; the doctor is right. Oliver remembering flashes of his time as the Green Arrow, while encouraging, is far from the recovery they’re all hoping for. It’s too soon to start counting chickens. But it’s so hard not to in the ensuing days as Felicity listens to Mia retelling the day’s story to Lieu. Felicity learns very quickly that Oliver’s version of the Green Arrow’s story? _ Far _from PG. She’d venture perhaps PG-13 - but that’s being generous, given his penchant for leaning into the fighting and action sequences. And his word choice? Definitely leaves something to be desired. 

His vocabulary, as it turns out, improved dramatically as ‘Ollie’ matured into ‘Oliver’. Felicity must frequently censor and amend the retelling of the story - both for word choice and content - lest her six year old daughter get thrown out of class for poor word choice, or her three year old son be scarred before he’s even hit preschool. 

And while she knows the story is wildly age inappropriate for Mia, Felicity can’t help that a tiny part of her is overjoyed to hear the story secondhand in this way. She’s convinced that this story telling? It is at least one small step in the right direction. Drawings that are Mia’s attempts at illustrating the Green Arrow story come to populate her room. She shares some with Oliver and others she draws in his presence and brings back to her room with her. No matter what though, every visit with Oliver yields new inspiration, new enthusiasm, and raises Mia’s spirits to new highs. 

When Mia comes back chattering excitedly about ‘The Overwatch’ and ‘The Green Arrow’, Felicity’s heart can’t help but flutter. 

Mia is hearing her parents’ love story. And though she may recognize some things here or there, Felicity isn’t entirely sure her daughter is aware that that’s what it is. The fact that she still seems utterly invested in the blossoming relationship warms Felicity’s heart though. And despite the turmoil surrounding them now, Felicity can’t help but think back fondly on the stolen moments she and Oliver shared long before they were a couple, before she ever dared to hope or dream that they ever could be. Back when he was just a cute guy she was helping and quietly ogling, completely unaware that he was doing much of the same from his vantage. 

“Do you like The Overwatch and The Green Arrow?” Felicity can’t resist asking, after the latest Green Arrow story update from her daughter. Mia’s eyes flash delightedly as she looks from her little brother up to her mother. 

“Yes! And they’s in love Mama. My friend keeps saying they aren’t but they gotta be.” 

“What makes you say that?” Felicity inquires with amusement and Mia rolls her eyes, as if the answer is utterly obvious. 

“The Green Arrow is grumpy lots of the time. But he’s not so grumpy ‘round The Overwatch. And he’s always protectin’ her and she’s always helpin’ him and givin’ him hugs. Kinda like you and Daddy!” Mia pipes up and though it’s meant to be sweet, this commentary is like a spear through the heart. 

Kinda like her and Oliver, indeed. 

By the time Halloween is breathing down their necks, Felicity has weirdly grown accustomed to the whole strange arrangement between the hospital staff and her battered little family. When she learns from Doctor Schwartz of Oliver’s plans to stage a full blown Halloween party for Mia, Felicity nearly breaks down crying.

Of course he is. Somehow, her husband is finding ways of shining light through her dark hours. And even though he doesn’t know or remember it, he’s making her life - and the lives of their children - so much brighter. 

Together with Mia and the nurses, Felicity fashions a bee costume out of items found at the hospital; though Mia has clamored to be the Green Arrow, Felicity has requested - nay _ begged _\- her daughter to be a bumblebee and, grudgingly, Mia’s agreed to do so, after it was perhaps implied that dressing as a bumblebee was a special operation The Overwatch requested.

Apparently Mia’s enough of a fan of The Overwatch to go along with it, no questions asked. 

Felicity cannot help but hope against hope that the visual of Mia dressed as a bee might spark something in Oliver’s mind. It’s a longshot. But perhaps they can knock some of the cobwebs off his memories and shake him back to himself if he sees his precious daughter dressed like she was for her first Halloween. 

The added perk? Mia being a bumblebee allows Felicity the perfect costume disguise. She can go dressed as a beekeeper and maybe, just maybe, she can get closer to Oliver. She won’t cross any lines, she knows better than that. She’s been threatened to within an inch of her life by Doctor Schwartz regarding the importance of not pressuring Oliver too soon. 

But god help her, she’s watched him struggle with his demons, with his guilt, with his loneliness, with his depression - all of it. She’s seen it a thousand times before. But she’s never had to endure the watching of it without actively doing something to dispel it. And now? Now she is forced to be a bystander, observing from afar as Oliver wallows in his discontent and grows bitter and unhappy. It’s difficult to watch; it’s harder still to know that she has the power to chase that unhappiness away but she is unable to do so. 

Felicity just wants to be with her husband, loving him through his. And not being able to? It kills her inside. 

So when Halloween arrives at long last, she’s all too delighted to don the legitimate beekeeping costume she rented for the occasion. She spends a good bit of the first half of the party simply watching events through a crack in the doorway of Mia’s room. She can hardly take her eyes off of her daughter, traipsing boldly through the crowd in pursuit of candy. But when she does look away, it’s always to look at Oliver, who’s standing in the doorway of his own room looking so purely overjoyed that for a brief moment, it’s like looking at _ her _Oliver again. 

Finally, after the party is well underway, Felicity joins the celebration, much to Mia’s delight, though the girl doesn’t linger with her mother terribly long before she’s off like a rocket. And despite herself, Felicity can’t help but maneuver ever closer to Oliver; it’s as if she’s trapped in his orbit. She doesn’t say anything to him, though her eyes are always on him through the mesh face mask of the beekeeper helmet. In some ways, he actually looks younger - as if losing his memories of the last eighteen years and all the hardships he faced as the Arrow has shaved the years off him. Of course, that’s if you look past all the bruising and swelling and discoloration - the accident really did do a number on his face.

That’s okay. She loves his face all the same, bruised and broken, whole and smiling, battered and tear stained. She’s seen it all and loved him in every iteration. Now is no different. 

Felicity drinks in the sight of him; this is the closest she’s been to him in what feels like a short eternity and she’s desperate to cling to each precious moment, even if it is a one sided interaction. God, she misses him. She listens to him make pleasant conversation with Doctor Schwartz, all the while wishing she could be the one at his side, sharing in idle pleasantries. She knows that’s not the case though and so when he leaves to change into his Halloween costume, Felicity doesn’t linger and instead circles back to the other side of the ICU. 

Felicity watches as Oliver returns dressed as Batman and it takes all of her self control not to howl with laughter. She settles for snapping half a hundred photos - of Oliver in the costume, of Mia interrogating him, all of it; someday when he has his memories back she’s going to tease him about this mercilessly. As it is, she settles for texting William, Diggle, and Thea half a dozen shots. Oliver's definitely never living this down.

After Halloween, Oliver seems to be in a relatively contented state, based on the updates she gets from the nurses; he never leaves his room and she can’t very well go in there and talk to him, so she’s wholly dependent on the assessments others make of him. But once they’re a few days removed from Halloween, Oliver begins to take a turn; Felicity overhears the nurses at the nurse’s station discussing his flagging spirits and his vitals, which have been trending the wrong direction the last couple days. 

When she hears commotion outside of Mia’s room not long after Halloween, Felicity goes into the hall just in time to see the hospital staff rushing out of Oliver’s room with him on a gurney, Felicity feels her stomach bottom out and her blood go cold. Like a sleepwalker, she begins to move forward, her eyes trained on Oliver. Thankfully, William is visiting at the time and he stops her from running headlong to Oliver’s side. It requires William to full body block her, but he does. And even as she strains against her son’s embrace, Felicity knows he’s right to stop her. 

He does not, however, manage to stop Mia. 

Felicity watches in tears as Mia rushes crying and screaming to Oliver’s side, fighting against the hospital staff to try and get to him. When Oliver tells the staff to let her approach, it’s too much for Felicity to handle. After the two have exchanged words and Oliver is whisked away, Doctor Schwartz comes to talk with Felicity about his prognosis. 

“He’s definitely an emergent case right now; the skull fracture has placed too much pressure on his brain and we’re going to have to do surgery to correct it. There’s always risks with any surgery but I’m confident in his odds. This is a setback, admittedly, but hopefully only a minor one. Don’t lose heart, Felicity. His odds of making it through this are very good.” 

Nothing about this situation _ feels _‘very good’ though.

William tags out with Thea that night; the two have very frankly been referring to their rotating shifts at the hospital as ‘Felicity Watch’. They both insist that she needs to go home and rest and give herself a break but she can’t and won’t do that until her loved ones are out of the hospital. Until then, her life consists of sleeping a hard plastic chair and showering in the tiny hospital room bathroom attached to Mia’s room. This is her reality and it will be for as long as her loved ones are here. 

If they’re not leaving, Felicity’s not leaving. 

“He’s going to pull through this, you know,” Thea murmurs to Felicity later that night, after Mia has dozed off in bed, Lieu snuggled up beside her; the hospital staff has been exceedingly kind in allowing Felicity and her family to continue to flout visitation rules. It probably helps that she’s already made a sizeable donation to the hospital, though Felicity likes to think it’s also done out of the goodness of their hearts. 

“He’s like a cat, you know?” Thea presses on when Felicity says nothing, and she lays a hand across her sister-in-law’s. “Nine lives.” 

“That’s the problem, Thea. One of these times, his nine lives are going to run out,” Felicity sighs, rubbing the pads of her right fingers across her forehead. “He survived the yacht sinking. That’s one life. Lian Yu. Two. Russia. Three. Hong Kong. Four. Slade. Five. Ra’s. Six. Darhk. Seven. Prison. Eight. Diaz. Nine. The Monitor and his precious freaking Crisis _ actually killed him_. And yes, he came back from that. But at some point, even he won’t be able to land on his feet,” she exhales heavily and shakes her head, rising out of her chair and walking across the room. Mia and LT have decorated the space with plenty of scribbled drawings but there’s one in particular that always gives her pause. 

The tiny stick figures of Oliver, herself, William, Mia, and LT are drawn together with little half circle mouths for smiles. Below the drawing, in a child’s hand is written ‘My Family’. Felicity touches her fingers to the paper gingerly, her eyes drinking in the tiny portrait of their family. 

Thea comes to stand beside Felicity, and it’s obvious the moment that her eyes land on the picture that holds Felicity’s attention. She touches a hand familiarly to Felicity’s elbow, her voice a soft rasp. 

“He’ll come home to you guys. He always does.” 

Felicity nods, sniffling just a little. She believes that Oliver will always fight to return to them. In fact, it’s more than a simple belief - it’s a fact. She _ knows _ that he will. But the problem is, he can’t control every variable. And this time? This time the variables are a doozy. 

“I just hope that the Oliver who comes home to us is the same Oliver that we lost to begin with.” 

Oliver as he is right now? That’s not the man Felicity is pining for. She’s pining for Oliver, her love, her heart, her soul. And she prays that he’s still in there somewhere, even if it’s buried deep down. She’ll do all the digging she needs to in order to find him. 

“Hey,” Thea murmurs gently, nudging Felicity softly, “-he _ will _ make it through. And he will be the same or better for it. Because he’s got you. He only survived half of those things because he had you fighting for him on the other side. You stood up to a god-like being for him. You found and read magical books and tomes to empower you to get him back. _ You _saved him, Felicity, every bit as much as he saved himself. And together? You two will do it again this time.” 

Felicity certainly hopes so; she’s come so close to losing him so many times. The Crisis was the worst and she’d feared him lost to her forever. But finding hidden knowledge in one of the books that allowed her to part him from the Specter while still saving the multiverse? That had been a save that had arrived at the eleventh hour. He’d been at death’s door when they’d managed to rescue him from that near-certain fate.

Felicity prays she can pull off another miracle this time. 

The two women are dead asleep in their plastic chairs at Mia’s bedside when Doctor Schwartz comes in during the wee hours of the morning to inform them that Oliver’s surgery was a success; the pressure on his brain has been relieved and the surgery seemed to go well; they have no reason to believe that there has been permanent damage done to his brain and the surgeon is optimistic that he will make a full recovery. 

“I think it would be best if we kept Mia out of his room for today at least, just to give him some time to recover,” Doctor Schwartz comments in a soft undertone and Felicity nods.

“Yeah, sure. We can do that. She might not like it, but I’ll handle that.” Felicity heaves a sigh; it’s possible to keep Mia away from Oliver for a day. But is it easy? No. But will Mia like it? No. Not in the slightest.

And Mia doesn’t like it. She gets fussy later in the morning when Felicity refuses to let her go ‘splorin’ (her not so secret code for visiting Oliver) but Felicity is adamant. Thankfully, the presence of her aunt Thea does much to appease Mia; Aunt Thea is, after all, _ super cool _in Mia’s book. She’s even got face scars - obviously a mark of true toughness, if you ask the six year old.

“Mia, sweetie we’re not going to go exploring today, alright? You need to rest up some and you might need to get some more tests done. So for today, we’re going to stay in your room, alright?” 

At this, Mia whips her head to look at Felicity, positively aghast. 

“But I _ need _to go ‘sploring, Mama!” Before Felicity can respond, Thea takes a step forward and decides to try her hand at quieting her niece. 

“Not today, Mia. You need to rest up so that you can go home soon. Doctor Schwartz said you are almost better enough for that. Won’t that be nice? You’ll get to sleep in your bed again and play with Lieu and all your toys!” 

But Mia won’t be easily distracted like that. If anything, this news only riles her up more and makes her all the more determined to go ‘exploring’ to see Oliver.

“I can’t go home Aunt Thea! Daddy still doesn’t ‘member! I gotta stay here ‘til he does!” 

Felicity and Thea are both taken aback by this. This is the closest that Mia has come to admitting she actually sneaks off to see Oliver; in Mia’s mind, this is all still highly top secret stuff and her mom doesn’t know precisely what she’s up to. 

“Mia, we talked about this, remember? It might take a very long time for Daddy to remember. And that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love us. It just means he’s still not all better yet. But we can’t stay here in the hospital waiting for him to get better. Daddy wouldn’t want that. Daddy would want us to go home and come visit him when we can.” Felicity tries to be comforting but also firm. They can’t stay here indefinitely, much though she would want to. Of course, it’s entirely hypocritical of Felicity to be telling Mia this, when she has quite literally put life on hold to be here for Mia and Oliver. But once Mia’s released? Even Felicity will have to go home, though she intends on visiting the hospital daily. 

How exactly those visits will work, Felicity has no idea. But she’s concocted whole stories to explain Moira’s absence in Oliver’s life; she can surely construct some tale to explain why she, a supposed stranger, would be bringing her young children over to visit a total stranger all the time. Right? Right. 

“No Mama! Daddy needs help fillin’ in the blanks, Doctor Schwartz said so! We gotsa help him! We can’t do that at home!” Mia’s so wound up, Felicity fears what the stress and strain may be doing to her little body. Quieting her daughter, Felicity relents, if only for now.

“Okay, okay Mia. Sshh, it’s alright. Okay. For now, you don’t have to go home, okay? We’ll talk about it later. But Mia? No matter what happens with Daddy’s head, you know he loves you, right? Even if he doesn’t know it here,” Felicity gently touches one finger to her daughter’s temple, “-he knows it right here,” she continues, this time touching a finger to her daughter’s chest, right over her heart. 

At this, Mia sniffles and nods before she surprises Felicity by throwing her arms around her in a tight little hug. 

“He loves you too, Mama,” Mia assures and Felicity winces as tears rush into her eyes, stinging fiercely. 

“Oh yeah?” Felicity murmurs in Mia’s ear and the small child nods, still holding her mother close. 

“Yeah. ‘course he does.” Mia loosens her hold on her mother and fishes around her bed, eventually finding a stack of drawings from her storytime with Oliver. “See? Thems you.” 

The drawing looks much like Mia’s drawings of The Green Arrow and The Overwatch. But Felicity can tell from the subtle differences that this is actually meant to be her and Oliver. He’s not in his Arrow leathers, and she’s not behind a computer. Instead, they’re standing happily side by side, a house in the background complete with a swingset. 

Above her and Oliver’s heads there is a rather large heart outlined in purple and colored in with red crayon. A green arrow has been shot through the heart and Felicity can’t help but smile at the sight. 

“This is very nice, Mia.” Felicity compliments her daughter and Mia blushes shyly. 

“I made it to help Daddy ‘member.” 

“It’s very good. I’m sure it will help,” Felicity presses a kiss to the top of Mia’s head and pulls a few fresh pieces of blank paper over. “Come on Mia. Let’s color something. How about… Beebo?!” 

“BEEBO!” Mia shouts animatedly, snatching up a blue crayon in delight. Before Oliver ever began telling her the story of The Green Arrow, Mia’s ‘Aunt Sara’ told her the story of Beebo during a visit when Mia was three and the character stuck with her. Three years later, Beebo is still a treasured friend in Mia’s little kid universe. 

If anything stands a chance of distracting Mia from trying to go pester Oliver now that he’s out of surgery, it’s Beebo. Felicity just hopes the weird little blue fuzzball is enough to hold her attention until Oliver’s ready for another visit from ‘Bee’. Even as they set to coloring Beebo’s latest adventures (and Aunt Sara’s too), Felicity is already mentally preparing herself for tomorrow. If Oliver’s stable enough and Doctor Schwartz gives the okay, Felicity will let Mia resume her visits with Oliver. 

✧✧✧✧✧

“I can’t thank you enough for doing this; really, it means a lot,” Felicity gushes as she paces the long hallway alongside him. He flashes her a cocky smile and shakes his head.

“Happy to do it; it’s always fun to reprise a role. Especially when it doesn’t involve getting shot. That’s refreshing.” 

Felicity winces but keeps pace with him as the pair round the corner of the hospital hall. After Mia came back from visiting Oliver yesterday, upset and silent, Felicity received word that his spirits were low and his vitals, not particularly impressive. It seemed an ideal time to arrange for a visit from their old friend and fortunately, he had been available to put their plan into motion today. Making the final turn Wordlessly, she points at the door to Oliver’s room. 

“Remember,” she begins, only to be cut off short.

“His mom’s in a mental health facility for grief counseling. His little sister, Thea, aged twelve, will be coming to stay with me. We’re good time Charlie party boys in our early twenties but deeply caring best friends. I read the entire twelve page dossier you sent me, Mrs. Smoak.” 

“It’s Smoak-Queen, actually, but that’s not important right now,” Felicity waves a hand before her nervously. “I was going to say remember, he’s still recovering from major surgery and he’s feeling alone and unloved and abandoned and I don’t even know what else… Please just… be kind to him. This is the man that I love. My husband. And the father of my children. I need him to be okay. So just… be good to him.” 

“Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of your husband. When I’m finished, Oliver’ll be telling everyone about what a great visit he’s had with his best bloke, Tommy.”

Chase flashes her another smile and then, so quickly it makes her skin crawl, he pulls on the mask that makes him look like a young Tommy Merlyn, just as they’ve planned. This is, admittedly, a wild course of action to take. But given how Oliver’s spirits have been tanking since his surgery, Felicity has been willing to resort to most anything to try and improve matters for him. 

Having Christopher Chance pretend to be Tommy is actually one of her better ideas. Which says a lot about how insane her thought process has gotten the longer she’s been cooped up in this hospital with her daughter and husband. But after Mia’s first visit with Oliver post-surgery ended with her daughter fleeing back to her room in tears, proclaiming she met a ‘grumpy guy’ while out ‘sploring’, Felicity had known she needed to take matters into her own hands. 

Oliver is not going to get better if his emotional and mental state is a mess. And right now? Every indication is that he’s a complete cluster. What’s worse? Following her disastrous encounter with Oliver, Mia has had a relapse of her own - her lungs are overworked and not working as effectively as the doctors would like, so she’s back on oxygen, at least for a while. None of this is okay in the slightest in Felicity’s book, so she knows she has to do _ something _ to help Oliver and Mia both_. _And apparently, Christopher Chance is that very ‘something’.

Each idea Felicity has brainstormed has been more ludicrous than the last. She’s even contemplated time travel with the wave rider, which goes to show how completely insane she’s gone. This is what comes of being the wife of the freaking Green Arrow. Calling in the Human Target is somehow now blase, almost mundanely ordinary. 

Felicity does her best to occupy herself as Chance pretends to be Tommy visiting Oliver. She’s glad the visit goes on for a while - clearly Oliver hasn’t picked up on the fact that this isn’t really Tommy, but an imposter. But Felicity is dying of curiosity the more time lapses. What are they talking about? Is this really helping Oliver or is this just making her feel better for having taken action? It’s so hard to know if she’s making the right choices for him, given that she can’t actually talk to him or interact with him in any way that would help her make an informed choice. 

She just wants to speak to her husband, damn it. 

When Chance finally leaves, Felicity rendezvous with him in the hallway. To her chagrin, he pulls off the Tommy mask and tosses it at her. It’s reminiscent of the first time they met and she’s no less weirded out by it now than she was then. 

“How did it go?”

“Fine. He seemed happy. I told him I’d take care of his little sis. We talked a bit. Nothing too crazy.” 

“Did he say anything unusual? Anything to indicate he might be remembering things? What was his reaction when you walked in?” Felicity rambles a mile a minute and Chance holds his hands quickly aloft.

“Whoa whoa whoa. Hold up there. No, he didn’t say anything unusual. I don’t get the impression he’s remembered anything out of the ordinary. And he was quite pleased to see me. Well, Tommy-Me.” 

Felicity swallows down the burning disappointment that rises in her throat at the news that he hasn’t seemed to remember anything, but she does her level best to disguise it. This was just one plan. She’s got a whole list of ideas left to try. 

“Well… Thank you. Again. I can’t begin to put into words how much this means to us. Thank you, for helping him - and us.” 

Chance nods and starts to walk away, only to turn back to Felicity, his lips parted as he seems to search for the words to say. 

“He talked about her a lot,” Chance states delicately and Felicity instantly assumes ‘her’ must mean someone from Oliver’s life before the island. 

“Laurel?” Felicity supplies and Chance shakes his head, smiling.

“No, no. Nothing like that. He talked about the girl a lot - you said he thinks Mia is ‘Bee’, right? Well… he went on about her for a while. Whatever you’re doing, putting those two together? You ask me… that’s what’s helping him the most in here. If anyone is gonna jog his memory, it won’t be Tommy or his sister - it’ll be her. Your little girl.” 

Felicity is almost speechless as Chance walks away from her then, a smile on his face. It’s not long after the entire Tommy/Chance visit that Mia receives a drawing delivered to her by one of the nurses, by way of Oliver. The apology adequately conveyed, Mia asks animatedly if she can go ‘sploring’. Felicity confirms with the hospital staff that Mia is allowed to be off of oxygen, albeit briefly, and then gives her seal of approval. As she watches Mia (slowly, with great care for her own limitations) skitter across the ICU, Felicity can only shake her head with a smile. 

For all her masterful planning, it’s obvious to see that the real medicine at work here is well concealed quality father-daughter time. And she’s not about to get in the way of that. She knows from the nurses that Oliver hasn’t been doing as well since Mia’s last visit nearly two days ago. And Mia’s been less than great herself in that time.

Felicity knows both of them could come to harm all on their own, given the severity of their injuries. And she knows there’s a million ways these little storytime meetings could go asunder. But for now? Both her loved ones seem happier for them. And so she’s going to lean into the unknown and trust the universe to do right by her family, just this once. 

✧✧✧✧✧

Trusting the universe backfires most profoundly.

Mia coming down with a respiratory infection is one thing; while it pains Felicity, she’s also aware that this has been a risk - almost a likelihood - since the thoracotomy. But Mia’s respiratory infection diagnosis one day, coupled with Oliver’s bacterial pneumonia diagnosis (possibly a result of aspiration during the event that led to his skull fracture surgery) the next day? That’s… that’s harder to handle. 

But Felicity _ is _handling it. And doing a pretty good job of it, all things considered.

Sure, she struggles to let Mia out of bed, knowing that she’s fighting a respiratory infection, but Doctor Schwartz says that as long as Mia takes it easy, it should be alright. So Felicity lets her go, even though her heart is in her throat. Thankfully though, things go alright and Mia returns a little while later, chattering happily about the latest developments in the Green Arrow story. So Felicity rolls with things, still trusting the universe. 

It’s hard but things seem to be working, until the next day when Mia returns from Oliver’s room, not a few hours after his pneumonia diagnosis. When Mia comes tearing into her room, she throws the door open with a _ BANG _and rushes for the bed, crying loudly and with no attempts to conceal her distress. Felicity scoops her up into her arms and cradles Mia against her. To her surprise (and concern) Mia not only allows this coddling - she leans into it, wrapping her arms around Felicity and clinging to her tightly as sobs rock her little frame. 

Mia never likes being coddled when she’s upset; she doesn’t even usually like to let on that she _ is _upset; but right now, her anguish is too profound to be contained, it would seem. Felicity is only able to get a few words here or there from her daughter, but what she draws forth from her is dark in the extreme. 

“The Green Arrow _ killed _Team Arrow!” She wails at one point and Felicity feels her stomach turn to ice. 

“What? Sweetie, I’m sure that’s not what happens,” she tries to reassure Mia but her firstborn is too upset to process her mother’s argument. 

“STABBED THE SPEEDY!” Mia bays loudly, her little hands balling into fists. “And now… now _ HE’S A BAD GUY!” _ Mia continues weeping against her mother. Felicity can feel the tears falling from her daughter’s eyes and it’s enough to break her heart. 

She knows where in the story Mia and Oliver are. And she also knows that the version Mia has been told? It’s skewed - and not in a kinder, more kid friendly direction. 

Felicity is still holding Mia hours later; Mia has fallen asleep in her mother’s arms and Felicity has no desire to let her go. What good has come of Felicity doing so? Mia getting her heart broken by Oliver? Not exactly an acceptable outcome in Felicity’s view. 

Clutching her small daughter as she is, Felicity feels the way Mia shudders in her sleep. And she feels as much as she hears the subtle change in Mia’s breathing. Felicity assumes it’s just a nightmare until Mia begins to whimper and struggle to sit up.

“Mama, it hurts!” Mia cries and Felicity, who has been on the verge of sleep herself, blinks back the fatigue and zeroes in on her daughter.

“What hurts, Mia?” 

“My tummy,” Mia gasps even as she tries to curl into the fetal position. Felicity moves a hand over Mia’s abdomen and touches it ever so lightly but Mia howls in pain as though she’s been stabbed. A moment later, the girl is retching and Felicity is out of the bed and across the room in the blink of an eye, calling out for help. 

The staff swarms Mia and it feels as though Felicity doesn’t even have time to take a breath before her daughter is being rushed out of the room and up to the surgical floor for emergency exploratory surgery. When the gurney rolls out and the door to the room swings shut, Felicity can’t hold herself together any longer.

She crumples to the floor in slow motion, tears flowing freely down her face. She replays her last look at Mia over and over again in her head; her tiny little blonde warrior princess, pale and scared and in pain.


	12. Chapter 12

Once Mia’s out of surgery, she is inundated with visitors. William is the first to arrive, with Lieu in tow. The Smoak-Queen family is finally all under one roof, though this is far from how William’s visit home was _ supposed _to go. Thea and the Diggle family all come by to see the Smoak-Queens; the Diggles, Felicity manages to sneak under the family rule by informing the hospital staff that Lyla and John are Mia’s aunt and uncle. And while Mia brightens upon seeing Connor and JJ, both of whom are preferred playmates, her mood overall is poor, at best. Not even William’s latest inventions spur her to normal levels of joy and usually she’s over the moon about every techy little toy he builds for her. 

Felicity’s reaching new levels of worry; she doesn’t even begin to know how to pull Mia out of this woeful state of mind and Oliver is apparently equally depressed. Somehow, Felicity’s attempts at entrusting her loved ones to each other has backfired most spectacularly. The very visits meant to prevent either Mia or Oliver from becoming stressed to the point of hurting their health, have possibly had the very opposite impact.

And then, Felicity is struck by a realization.

If this is rock bottom for Oliver and Mia, then there’s nowhere to go but up. And in Oliver’s case? That means that the only thing left to try is the truth. He’s survived the stress of surgery and he’s dealing with the pain of pneumonia. And Felicity certainly doesn’t want to dogpile on. But if his brain is safe enough to attempt it? 

… Felicity wants to try and push him. Oliver remembering would be a huge boon to Mia’s spirits, of that there can be no doubt. But Felicity will need to consult with Doctor Schwartz about anything more intense before she proceeds. For now? 

For now, Felicity asks Thea to place another phone call to her brother and thankfully, her sister-in-law is only too happy to help. But before Thea dials the phone, Felicity coaches her on what to say. 

The words worked once, many years and several kids ago. Felicity holds out hope that the familiar words of encouragement will work once again now. Those same two things are as true now as they were then. 

_ You are not alone. And I believe in you. _

Armed with these words of encouragement, Thea leaves to place the phone call to her brother. In her absence, Felicity is able to catch up with Doctor Schwartz and frankly, the results of the conversation are more than she dared to hope for. 

To Felicity’s great surprise, Doctor Schwartz is open to the idea of pushing Oliver’s memory, though she wants to wait until Oliver’s been on his latest medicine medley for at least forty eight hours, to give him a boon against the coming shock. He’s already been on them for twenty four, so by this time tomorrow? 

Well, by this time tomorrow Felicity can put her latest plan into motion. The thought alone is both thrilling and terrifying. 

The doctor discusses Oliver’s profound worry for Mia, and how he’s asked after her with all the hospital staff. It’s clear to Felicity that Doctor Schwartz wants for Mia and Oliver to resume their visits; she’s been amply clear that she believes these visits are the best medicine for both patients. Felicity, however, is less comfortable with the idea of Mia and Oliver interacting. After the way things went last time? She’d be crazy not to be concerned… right? 

“I think there are definitely potential drawbacks, Felicity. But I maintain that the potential medical benefits to this partnership between Mia and Oliver outweighs the risks.” Doctor Schwartz explains and Felicity bites her lower lip and nods.

Nothing would make Felicity happier than to have father and daughter reunited, healthy, and happy. But there’s no guarantee a reunion will accomplish any of those things; yet, there’s every possibility it could do the complete opposite. 

Felicity wars with the decision of what to do; in the end, Mia is the one to make the decision for her. When William sits at his sister’s bedside, quietly coloring alongside her, he asks about her drawing and Mia shrugs. 

“The little girl looks pretty sad. Is there anything anyone can do to make her happy? Maybe her big brother?” William pries in his gentle, loving way. William may not be a fan of kids but when it comes to his siblings? The boy’s a natural and both Mia and Lieu flock to him for his steady, unassuming manner and the way he treats them like adults (while still not _ quite _treating them like adults). In answer, Mia shrugs and leans against her brother, burrowing into his side the same way Lieu does to her all the time. 

“She’s sad ‘cause she misses her Daddy,” Mia explains. Shock and sorrow flit across William’s face, though he’s quick to mask his emotions. 

“Well, I bet her daddy is going to come back to her real soon,” William tries to encourage but Mia shakes her head sorrowfully.

“No. Hims gone.” 

Felicity has no choice; her daughter deserves to have her father back in her life, in whatever capacity she can have him. Felicity will take every precaution to ensure Oliver behaves himself this time though; before he can see Mia, he’ll have to see her. 

How exactly Felicity will navigate that conversation without bursting into tears? She doesn’t yet know. But navigate it she will. For Mia’s sake. And for Oliver’s. 

✧✧✧✧✧

When Doctor Schwartz brings Oliver to Mia’s room the next day, Felicity’s mouth goes dry and her heart begins to hammer. Normally these are symptoms of the very positive emotions he stirs up on her, even now, nearly a decade into their marriage. But today? Today those are the results of the fraught emotional state she’s in presently. 

The conversation goes about as well as can be expected, she thinks; it’s so difficult to be so close to him and not reach out. They’ve always been physical in small, unassuming ways; shoulder touches and hand touches, born out of the close bonds they forged over the years. But those memories - and that bond - are gone. At least, for Oliver. So she has to consciously refrain from all of these natural impulses. It’s… difficult in the extreme. She wants to grab his hand and hold it so badly. 

Felicity still feels a prickle of doubt and uncertainty about all of this. Mia is so fragile, though you’d never know it to look at her. And truthfully, Oliver is still fragile himself; his lungs are waging a war on pneumonia which is no easy thing, and his body is still recovering from surgery and the litany of wounds he acquired in the accident. But as she lays out the ground rules for him resuming his visits with Mia, Felicity expresses her concerns about Mia’s health in no uncertain terms. And to her great surprise? Oliver seems contrite and for that, she’s glad. This seriousness, this maturity? These are shades of Oliver shining through; by all accounts, Ollie knew no such self restraint or self awareness. Oliver, her Oliver? She trusts him implicitly. And seeing echoes of him in this version of Oliver? It sets her more at ease about letting him near their daughter.

Maybe he’s closer to coming back to her than she thought. But no. That line of thinking is a slippery slope and hope is a very dangerous thing. 

As Oliver enters the room, Felicity has to suck in a steadying breath as she watches the kids react; Mia has been around Oliver enough times already that seeing him is less shocking. But Lieu hasn’t and her youngest is painfully unsettled by all of this. Quiet as he is by nature, his chosen recourse is to burrow against his sister and hide so that he doesn’t have to look this beat up, amnesiac version of his father in the face. And really, Felicity can’t blame her son for that; she’d love to do the same thing, honestly. 

As the apology progresses, Felicity settles in at Mia’s bedside, pretending to occupy herself with a magazine when in reality, she’s so finely tuned in to Oliver’s storytelling that every fiber of her is quivering at attention. 

Whenever he oversteps with some detail too upsetting or graphic by Felicity’s estimate, she interjects in some form or fashion. A clearing of the throat, a quiet cough, a subtle shake of the head, or a stern look when their eyes meet. And it seems to work - she’s getting the message across because on more than one occasion, Oliver alters some detail within the story to something more suitable for the kids and every time, Felicity nods in silent agreement and encouragement. 

In rapid fashion, the four of them are all wrapped up in Oliver’s tale. And as Felicity watches her children’s faces, she can see the rapt attention, the sparkle in Mia and Lieu’s eyes, and their joy at being with Oliver once again. Mia’s been a daddy’s girl from the get go, but Lieu is definitely a mama’s boy. Today, however, both of her children think the sun and the moon revolve around Oliver and Felicity can’t disagree with them.

God, she’s missed him. 

Eventually, the time passes and it’s getting late when, wisely, Oliver begins to wrap up. When he indirectly asks permission to return, Felicity’s heart pounds for only a moment before she nods. How can she say no to him? Looking at the joy on her children’s faces which is in no small way mirrored on Oliver’s own face, there’s no way she possibly can.

Of course he can come back. She can’t deny any of them that opportunity. 

As she follows him out of Mia’s room, however, Oliver has another surprise for her. After she conveys her thanks to him for apologizing to Mia and for caring about her so much, Oliver apologizes to her for her loss and Felicity feels her whole body freeze up in surprise. 

Somehow, this hurts worse than either of the times she’s been shot. This is a bullet to the heart, hearing him saying these words to her. Felicity wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him and scream _ ‘It’s you! You’re my husband!’ _but she knows that wouldn’t do either of them any good. So instead she tries her best to cover (though she knows she does a poor job of it; she’s no actress and recovering from a comment such as that is beyond her ability to gloss over as if unaffected). 

When he leaves at last, Felicity feels as though her heart has been put through a blender but somehow, she’s happy for it. She can tell that he’s not the same as he was when he first woke up; some of the coarseness of ‘Ollie’ has been filed away and polished into a bit more of the Oliver she knows. 

Or is that just wishful thinking? The forlorn yearnings of a wife pining for her husband? It’s hard to know with any certainty. In the end, all she can do is take it on faith. She’s never stopped believing in him; she won’t start now. 

When Doctor Schwartz comes by later, Felicity discusses with her the plan for pushing Oliver’s mental recovery forward. And while she’s still afraid that it’s too soon or that she’s wrong and he’s not on the verge of a breakthrough, Felicity can’t let that fear stop her. So when Doctor Schwartz gives the all clear, Felicity calls Thea up and tells her that they’re good to go with the plan they’ve worked out. When her sister-in-law arrives, Felicity is aflutter with nerves and she goes through the plan one more time. But in the end, this isn’t her news to break or her story to tell. Not yet. So she has to watch, once more from the sidelines, as Thea approaches Oliver’s room and with a gentle rap on the door, she enters. 

And all Felicity can do is hope. 

When Thea returns some time later though, Felicity fears her hoping may have been in vain; from what her sister in law tells her, Oliver hasn’t taken the news as smoothly as they’ve wished for. Doctor Schwartz and her team have come in and sedated him when his vitals began to approach dangerous levels. 

Now with Thea at her side, Felicity must once again wait. And hope. 

✧✧✧✧✧

She’s half asleep, still silently sending up prayers for Oliver to remember early the next morning when one of the nurses comes into Mia’s room to inform Felicity that Oliver is asking for her. She takes a deep, quavering breath and with a backward glance at her kiddos and Thea, who’s stayed the night at the hospital alongside her, Felicity goes to her husband’s room.

Somehow, it’s everything she’d hoped for and more. His questions, his uncertainty. But her fear is a feral, vicious thing and its claws have sunk down deep. As he stares at her, remembering her only in half measures, she can’t help but wonder if this was a mistake. Is it better for him to remember a tiny fraction of their past but not the most important parts of their lives together, or would it be better to remain entirely forgotten? 

Then, she watches as light begins to slowly trickle into his eyes as his memories return to him. And she watches the uncertainty and curiosity morph into recognition and warmth and it’s like the clouds have parted and finally released the sun. He’s back. _ Her Oliver. _ And his simple existence is enough to chase away the pain and the sorrow that have camped out in her heart all these last weeks, weighing her down and burdening her soul.

And when he says her name, the shattered pieces of her heart fit themselves back together like perfect jigsaw pieces and she is once more made whole and alive as those four syllables fall off his tongue. 

_ F-Felicity?! _

✦✦✦✦✦

As Felicity finishes telling her story of the last few weeks in the hospital, Oliver is both awed by her strength and appalled by the enormity of what she’s had to deal with on her own. Her hands are knitted through his and he finally releases one of them so that his hand can pass tenderly over her face, his knuckles stroking her cheek before he presses a tender kiss on the corner of her lips. Even as he does it, he’s staggering under the weight of the memories bombarding him. 

_ Driving off into the sunset with her. Seeing the world with her. Making love to her in every country; Thailand, Italy, Indonesia. Their life together in Ivy Town. Countless ‘good morning’ kisses and homemade breakfasts. Burnt omelettes, lazy mornings in bed. Their reunion after his time in prison. Celebrating their first anniversary together. _

In every memory, in every flash, there’s those gorgeous blue eyes of hers staring back at him; that same shade of blue he’s been dreaming about in broken images and snatches of color for _ weeks _ now. Every time he’s seen it, he understands now, it was his brain trying to remember _ her. _Trying to remember the vivid, sky colored eyes that have stared into his soul and branded themselves upon his heart.

He’s so swept up in the notion, he can’t help but kiss her again. More passionately this time. He doesn’t want to stop. Even as Oliver breaks off the kiss and his eyes run across her face again, he’s missing her lips. He could kiss her the rest of his life and never grow sick of it. His lips find hers once again, his tongue stroking hers as he tries to kiss away all that she’s had to endure since the accident. Her soft exhale against him only spurs him on and he’s kissing her more deeply and holding her tight with a grip that absolutely never wants to let go. 

He came so close to losing her. And what’s more? He came so close to never knowing what he’d lost. How is that possible? He’s going to spend the rest of his life burning the sensation of her kisses into his memory so that no accident, no injury, can ever steal the recollection from him again. 

Finally, he draws away from her when he’s kissed her so thoroughly she’s breathless (and honestly, he’s damn near gasping what with his bum lungs). But even as he holds her close and draws little circles on her with his thumbs, he’s still remembering. And this time, the memories aren’t just of them. 

_ He sees Felicity and William in the kitchen, baking cookies. He sees William playing with his action figures when he first went to Central City to see him. He sees Felicity saying the words that changed his life all over again, even hears them in his head - ‘I’m pregnant’. He remembers the cravings for mint chip, remembers her obsession with gummy bears (but never the red). He remembers William running off to school with his scarlet speedster backpack and suddenly, the flashes of red in his memories and the strange symbol make so much sense. _

William’s always been a fan of The Flash and he always had a ‘The Flash’ backpack or lunch box. This is the red that Oliver’s seen in flashes in his memories, though he didn’t know it at the time. Those fractals of red in his dreams? That was him trying to remember William. His son. _ Their son. _

And suddenly, Oliver can hardly breathe for reasons that have nothing to do with kissing Felicity; somehow, in the remembering of his life, he’s taken this long to get to one of the biggest discoveries of all. When he looks at Felicity, his eyes are shining with unshed tears and he can barely speak for the way his throat closes up with emotion.

“B-But that means… B-Bee? She… She’s…_ Mine?!” _

Felicity draws an unsteady breath that’s half sob and she nods, smiling through her tears as she lays her palms flat on his chest.

“We named her Mia. Short for Moira,” she begins to explain and like a tidal wave, another round of memories hits him. 

_ Discussing baby names with Felicity. The cabin in Bloomfield. Felicity going into labor and giving birth to Mia. The little blue bear outfit they put her in when she was small. The tiny nursery in the cabin, the mobil over her crib. And keen green eyes staring up at him. His daughter’s eyes. _

The green that he’s been seeing? It’s the same shade as Bee’s - _ Mia’s _\- eyes. In every flash of green, there’s been a memory of his daughter trying to break through. 

His daughter. Bee. Mia. _ Their daughter Mia. _He can scarcely dare to believe it. But another wave of memories hits and he sees the validity of everything Felicity has told him. 

_ The day they brought William home to Bloomfield and their little family was all finally under one roof. The day they left the cabin, after the Ninth Circle was off the board and they could safely come out; buying a house with room for their family to grow. The little positive sign on the pregnancy test when Felicity found out she was pregnant again, this time with Lucas Thomas. William getting his acceptance letter to MIT. And the picture of the five of them that now hangs in the front room of the house. _

“It’s sweet...and fiery,” Oliver gasps out, his eyes holding Felicity’s. He rises suddenly, a hand rubbing the back of his neck as he tries to make sense of it all, tries to wrap his head around the fact that he’s a husband and a father of three, in addition to being a former vigilante-hero. 

It’s a lot to take in, admittedly. But his family? _ His family. _ That’s what he can hardly dare to believe is real. 

“They’re really mine?” He needs confirmation from Felicity because even if he doesn’t remember everything, he remembers enough to know she won’t lie to him.

“Yeah. They are. William’s got your sense of duty and your heart. Mia has your stubbornness and your courage. Lieu - Lucas - he’s got your stoicism. And your eyes.” Felicity relays this to him gently and Oliver is still struggling but in the best possible way. He’s a father. He has three children. 

“C-Can I see them?” 

He turns to look at Felicity, hope and desperation in every line of his carriage. Never, in all of his life (at least, what he can remember of it) has he ever wanted anything more than he wants to see his children in this exact moment. 

Felicity gnaws at her lower lip, contemplating for a brief moment before she nods.

“Yeah. Come here.” She holds out a hand and he accepts it gratefully. His fingers fall easily intertwined with hers and just as simply as that, she gives his arm a gentle tug and leads him out the door and across the ICU floor. As they approach the room, he feels his heart rate accelerate and he fears he may pass out as Felicity pushes open the door and tows him in behind her. 

To his great surprise, Thea is in the room. But then again, that makes sense - she’s his sister. That makes his children her niece and nephews. Of course she would be here with them. 

Everyone is gathered at Mia’s bedside; Thea is sitting in one chair beside her niece, and in the chair next to her there’s a handsome young brunette man in the middle of a very spirited conversation with Bee - _ Mia, _ Oliver corrects himself. In the hospital bed, Mia herself is sitting up, surrounded by colored drawings and at her side is the little boy Oliver recognizes from the day before. _ Lieu, Felicity called him. Their youngest. _Felicity was right - he really does have Oliver’s eyes. 

The room goes quiet when Felicity and Oliver enter it; he feels all eyes turn to look at them and Oliver is suddenly too thunderstruck to speak. William, however, quickly takes in the whole scene, his eyes traveling across his father and stepmother with familiarity and stopping on their laced fingers. The moment William sees this small detail, a wide smile spreads across his features and his eyes lift to Felicity’s face. Her answering nod is all the confirmation he seems to need; without warning, he’s on his feet and throwing his arms around Oliver.

“Dad!” He gushes in relief, heaving a ragged breath as he buries his face against Oliver. A little surprised but not in a bad way, Oliver slowly returns his son’s embrace, until a quiet voice hisses through the otherwise silent room, interrupting the reunion. 

“_ William we’re not ‘sposed to call him ‘Daddy’ ‘member?!” _Mia growls in an angry whisper as William lets go of Oliver and wipes the tears away from his eyes. In answer to Mia’s sharp rebuke, William can only laugh, too overjoyed for actual words as he goes next to Felicity and embraces her delightedly, going so far as to spin her in a celebratory circle as he hugs her. 

“It’s okay, guys. We don’t have to play the game anymore; you can call him Daddy. He’s remembering,” Felicity explains as she continues embracing William even after he’s stopped spinning her. At this, Lieu’s eyes go round and bright and his lips tip up into the smallest of grins as he stands up on Mia’s hospital bed and runs at Oliver, flinging himself off the mattress and at his dad with surprising speed.

Instinctively, Oliver grabs the little boy out of the air and hugs him against his chest, a little terrified and a little delighted. 

“Hi Daddy,” Lieu beams as Oliver looks at him, marveling at the little boy that he’s only just begun to remember. 

“Hi Lieu,” Oliver murmurs back, grinning a little dazedly at his youngest. Looking from Lieu to Will, Oliver’s head is already spinning. But as Thea rises and comes to collect Lieu from his arms, Oliver’s attention shifts entirely to Mia, who is taking in this entire scene from her hospital bed, her little legs tucked up against her chest, her arms wrapped around them as she stares at Oliver with watery eyes. 

He knows that look. That look is one of his own. It’s a mixture of disbelief and suspicion. Hopelessness warring with faith. He goes to the edge of her bed and seats himself on it, staring at her with a conspiratorial smile. 

“Your name isn’t _ really _ Bee, is it?” Oliver asks in a crisp, clear voice. Mia’s eyes go round as coins and she glances to her mother for guidance. Behind him, Felicity must somehow signal that this is okay, because Mia swallows and looks back to him, then shakes her head. 

“Your name is _ really _Mia. Mia Smoak-Queen. Isn’t it?” He presses, watching as Mia freezes in surprise and once more looks to Felicity and then back to Oliver, before she gives a faint, uneasy nod by way of answer. 

“Yeah, Mia sounds right. But that’s not my special nickname for you, is it?” Oliver goes on and Mia shakes her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. She’s still uncertain about this entire interaction and it shows. Oliver chuckles then, because her suspiciousness? He would wager that is a trait she inherited from him.

“No. I call you something else, don’t I? I call you my little Bumblebee, don’t I?” Oliver smiles warmly and at this, Mia’s lips part in surprise and then her face splits into a million gigawatt smile. Putting out his arms expectantly, Oliver gestures to her. 

“Come here, my Best Bee. I’ve missed you.” 

✦✦➷➷✧✧

It takes a while. But eventually, Oliver comes back to them fully. It takes him regular therapy sessions to process through the trauma of the accident and seeing Mia so badly injured. But bit by bit, he fills in the missing blanks in his memory.

Oliver’s bed is moved into Mia’s room and that day marks a joyous turning point in both of their recoveries. For the first time since all this began, Felicity is able to go home and sleep soundly in her own bed, knowing that both of her loved ones are together and well cared for and _ stable. _

Together, Oliver and Mia watch all her favorite movies. But watching the television always takes a backseat to story time. Mia is adamant that Oliver finish telling her The Green Arrow’s story. He takes great pains to tell her the rest of it, though he’s careful to try and craft it into something slightly more age appropriate. Now that he knows who his little Bee _ really _is, Oliver can’t help but cringe at the version of the story that he’s told her up to now. 

Felicity must have wanted to kill him when he dropped the bomb about his time as Al-Sahim on Mia. Woops.

His favorite day is when he tells Mia about The Green Arrow marrying The Overwatch. But then comes the day when he tells Mia the story of The Overwatch telling The Green Arrow that she is pregnant and that day? That day surpasses the wedding day. Mia is over the moon about the couple getting hitched and she proves keenly interested when she learns the pair are having a baby together. 

When Oliver tells Mia that the child of her two favorite characters will one day grow into a hero in her own right, Mia seems pleased. 

“When she’s growed up she’s a hero too?”

“She becomes a hero _ before _she’s even grown up!” Oliver explains and Mia gasps faintly, clearly blown away by this news.

“You mean kids can be heroes too?” 

“Oh yes. Kids are some of the very best heroes,” Oliver affirms. Mia mulls this over for a moment, her little face deeply creased with thought. 

“I could be a hero?” 

Oliver feels his heart stop in his chest and for a moment it is as if time is suspended. _ Could be _ a hero? His daughter already _ is _ a hero in every way that matters. She is strong and she is fierce, she is determined and she is loyal. She is kind and she is loving and she is unrelenting. She is a force of nature and a force of _ good_.

She’s his Little Bee. Small but mighty and not to be trifled with. Just like her mother and every bit as heroic as Felicity.

“Mia honey, you already _ are _a hero,” Oliver murmurs to her with a tender smile and his daughter frowns as she looks at him.

“How? I’m not a hero, Daddy! I didn’t save nobody!” Mia reasons and Oliver can’t help the smile that spreads across his features as he shares a knowing look with Felicity, who has stopped by with Lieu to visit and listen to story time. 

“Mia sweetie, have you forgotten? You saved me,” Oliver informs her gently and Mia’s frown deepens. 

“_ I _saved you?” 

“You did.” 

“When?!” 

“Right here in this hospital!” 

“I _ did?! _” She’s incredulous. And Oliver’s heart is so full of love for her, he’s fit to burst. 

“You did. Don’t you remember? You filled in my memory blanks. Without you, I wouldn’t remember anything. You’re a hero, my Little Bee! You saved me.”

“I’m a hero…” Mia repeats, sounding more than a little dazed. If there’s a kid cloud nine, she’s on it. Felicity smiles at Oliver and leans forward to share a kiss with him and god help him, he loves this so much. His wife. His children. His family. William is back at school but coming back soon for Hanukkah and Christmas with the family. 

According to Dr. Schwartz, the Smoak-Queen family will be getting discharged in a few days time; Mia is fit as a fiddle and plenty eager to go. Oliver’s physically stable and well recovered. He’s gotten his plastic surgeries for his facial injuries and while he can’t say his face will ever be the same, it’s as good as it’s going to get. Fortunately, Felicity has assured him he’s still plenty handsome and really, as long as he’s got the love of his life and their incredible little family, what does he care if he looks a bit less symmetrical these days?!

“Penny for your thoughts?” 

Oliver tilts his head to the side; Felicity lies next to him, scrunched up in the hospital bed. Lying atop and between them, Mia and Lieu are out cold. Oliver smiles at his wife and inclines his head towards hers. They share a soft but tender kiss and he can feel when her lips pull up into a smile as she kisses him. 

“I missed this… I missed _ us_,” she hums as she nuzzles his face for a brief moment. Oliver smiles and stares at her, overcome with love. His wife is strong as hell. When he looks back on what she’s endured these last months, he cannot begin to fathom the depths of her courage and fortitude. Felicity is a survivor, through and through. And while the world may have branded Oliver a hero, in his eyes? Felicity is the real hero of the family. Her and their daughter both have that selfless, _ good _ streak in them. And he loves that about both of them.

“I was thinking about us,” Oliver confesses quietly and Felicity arches a brow at him. 

“Oh really? What about us?” 

“About our family… And our story.”

“Thinking of selling off the movie rights?” Felicity teases and Oliver chuckles and shakes his head. 

“Thinking about what comes next for us,” he exhales and Felicity falls still, her eyes trained on his face as she waits patiently for him to elaborate. “I think… If it’s possible to do the whole ‘happily ever after’ thing, that sounds like a nice way to end things, don’t you think?” 

“That sounds pretty good to me,” Felicity agrees, wiggling one arm out from beneath the kids so that she can stroke his face just so, her fingertips tracing in feather light touches along his hairline. Oliver closes his eyes and leans into the touch with a happy little huff. “But don’t for a second think this means you’re off the hook with The Green Arrow story,” Felicity adds teasingly and Oliver chortles as he inclines his head to look at Mia’s slumbering little figure. 

“I think that story still has some adventures left in it,” Oliver muses and Felicity looks at him, more than a little surprised.

“Oh?”

“Yeah… I think there’s every possibility of a sequel story, don’t you?” 

Felicity swallows and then looks down at their daughter. Her hand follows her gaze, and she touches her daughter’s face softly, her fingers ghosting across the faint scar along her hairline and down her cheek. 

“The mom in me wants to say absolutely not but… I also know this family well enough to know that I think you’re right.” Felicity lifts her gaze back to Oliver and offers him a wry smile. “You know what they say about apples and trees…” she trails off and Oliver feels his smile deepen. 

“I’m guessing something about not falling too far from them?” Oliver supplies and Felicity chuckles. 

“Exactly. She’s her father’s daughter, alright. Love it or hate it, I think being a hero is already in her blood.” Felicity cranes her head towards Oliver, her expression stern. “But absolutely no teaching her to stab anyone until she’s at least fifteen,” Felicity demands ominously and Oliver chuckles, his eyes sparkling as he meets his wife’s gaze.

“No stabbing. Arrow’s honor,” he jokes back before he presses a kiss to her forehead. They fall quiet for a time, studying two of their three children with full hearts. 

“Oliver?” 

“Hmm?”

“I love our story,” Felicity confesses in a quiet voice as her hand falls across his and gives it a tender squeeze. 

“I do too. Every hardship life has thrown me… It led me here. To you. To our family. I can’t think of a happier ending than that,” he admits, his eyes on Mia’s sleeping figure. 

A family full of love and heroes. There are worse stories out there. He’s pretty happy that this one is his. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I knew this was a gamble because of the nature of the big reveal but you all stuck with it and I can't thank you enough. Big shout out to Calli for pushing me to write this story for NaNo, and to Elley for beta-ing it like a champ. Kudos also to Lexi and Calli for endless writing sprints and support. You all rock. <3


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